Haunting a Ghost
by Infected with Lupinus
Summary: Pain is good. But forget the cilice and self flagellation. Before Opus Dei, Silas had learned that the worst pain of all is loving a woman. A tale of Silas' rise, fall and subsequent resurrection...
1. Chapter 1

"Faith is often the boast of the man who is too lazy to investigate."  
--F.M. Knowles

Chapter 1

Every night Silas was awakened by tormenting dreams, reminders of a life that could have been but one he was swiftly robbed of. Each time they came they made him sit up bolt-right, head reflectively bowed as the tragic memories drowned his troubled mind in a deluge that he was helpless to prevent. It always made the sparse, minimalist but warm room he lived in at Opus Dei headquarters seem colder, more barren than it already was; a reflection of the emptiness that haunted him.

He'd been a young man of eighteen when he met her. Aimlessly wandering the French coast for more than a week, he travelled deeper inland, hoping to get a change of scenery for a few days. He needed to seek shelter somewhere for a short while so he could rest. The burning ache of his muscles nearly caused him to collapse with exhaustion, giving him no choice but to stop where he was for the night. Gratefull that it was July and there was no need to toil with keeping warm, he stretched out on the chilly, lush grass beneath an enormous olive tree, shut his eyes and welcomed the ensuing blackness.

"Excuse me."

The gentle voice calling to him sounded like lyrics from the throat of an angel. A woman! Her reaction to his reposed chalk-white form seemed to not have fazed her in the manner to which he was accustomed. For this, he was bewildered. _When I open my eyes she will be frightened away!_ he thought. _I am a ghost! I am transparent! She will not see me!_

_A ghost with the eyes of a devil_, the citizens of Toulon had too recently dubbed him and the self-conscious worry of what did not frighten her away transferred over to what he was positive would: those eyes. He ignored her, wishing her away. Alas, she addressed him again and, hard as he tried preventing it, his eyes fluttered open. What he saw made him think he'd passed on in the night and woke up in Heaven. She was an exquisite dark haired beauty, around his own young age, who smiled unfalteringly at him even after his hell-fire red eyes were unveilled. Her smile felt better than the sweet sun from above.

"My name is Olivia," she informed, her voice blooming with an English accent. "You've fallen asleep in my garden. I wish I'd known. You were welcome to sleep some other place than underneath my olive tree."

She waited for him to speak but he was too astonished by her disregard of his appearance to do so.

"What's your name?" she inquired tenderly.

He gave her the first name that came to him, one he invented because he could not remember the one he received at birth and Olivia repeated it. The name rolled off the young woman's tongue like manna in the desert.

"Would you like to join me for breakfast?" she asked. "I'll wager that you're starving."

She stood from her crouching position then extended a friendly hand to help him up. With a wariness instiled within him from a hard life on the streets, he accepted her gesture and rose from the ground. What was the matter with her? Was she blind and could not _see_ him?

If she was blind to his looks, he shared her handicap for it was strange that he'd been unaware of the presence of a house behind him when he laid down for the night. It was a yellow, two-story with a wrap-around porch. How could he have missed it? It was straight from a dream he secretly kept, where he had one of his own, to accompany the normal life his differences removed him from.

Inside, the house was simple and immaculate, an ideal paradise for his angel to reside. However, he did not have the opportunity to scrutinise his surroundings in detail since she whisked him through the rooms and into a spacious kitchen. Here she seated him at the place of honour: the head of a sturdy table inside a little breakfast nook where she served hot porridge, fresh strawberries and tea with milk and sugar. She joined him at the table with her own cup of tea but she did not eat. Famished, he devoured the food and all but choked from eating too quickly.

"Slow down," Olivia advised. "It isn't going any where and there's plenty more where that came from."

She was true to her words because after he finished seconds followed which he ate more civilly. She remained quiet, not disturbing him while he ate, but drank her tea and read a newspaper that was already on the table.

When his meal was finished the silence grew awkward. He didn't know what to say or do. As he struggled with the dilemma he observed her dignified stature and imagined she was an English noblewoman on holiday in France. His drifting thoughts snapped back to the problem on hand. Finally, what he deemed to be the appropriate words came out.

"Thank you," he broke the silence, rousing her from her concentrated reading. "For the meal. I would pay but I have nothing to give in return."

She only looked at him with dewy eyes.

He rose from the chair, the wrought iron screeching over the parquet floor.

"I will leave you now," he insisted timorously then turned his back to follow through.

The sound of the name he'd given her being expelled from her lips stopped him short.

"I'm alone here and there's plenty to do," she continued. "I'll have to harvest my crop soon. I'll need help. I might not be able to pay well and I can do so only after the crop's been weighed in at market but I can offer shelter and food."

"Are you giving me a job?"

"I suppose I am. Do you accept?"

He turned back around to face her, a light smile spread across his lips.

"I will do my very best."

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Olivia decided she liked his smile. It brimmed with a fearfull hope that she knew was too often crushed, which was something she read in his startling eyes. Those eyes that were like beacons of fiery passion; she decided she liked them as well. They were deceptive in their heathen colour but definitive in their expressions.

"Do you normally take work like this?" she asked.

"Not often," he replied. "I do not receive many offers for reasons made quite clear."

Her eyebrows raised in attestation. "When you do, I'll bet they force you to sleep in their barns like an animal. Do they do that? Make you sleep in their barns?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"My barn is full so you can't sleep there. However, there's a spare room at the end of the hall," she stated. "I'm certain you'll be comfortable there. Come. I'll show you."

The bedroom was plain with a fair sized bed, a matching armoire, a corner basin and a little bench near the open window. The walls were bare apart from a large solitary wooden crucifix hanging across from the bed. It wasn't much but it would suit his needs and she witnessed the gratitude enter his eyes when he saw it.

"It's Sunday," she said. "The Sabbath. There is no work on the Sabbath so feel free to make yourself at home. Take a nap. Get acquainted with the grounds. I will look for you when supper's ready."

She left the room but kept the door ajar slightly, affording her the opportunity to study her unexpected and most exotic guest. She watched as he stood still, soaking in his good fortune before he strolled with an uncanny grace to stand before the window. He did nothing but remain there, gazing intently out at the garden in silent reverence.

It did not take much deliberation to distinguish the private hells this man must have endured in his relatively short life and her heart went out to him. He was beautifull in a way that she'd never seen before and she took pride in habitually finding beauty not only where others did not look but also where others _chose_ _not_ to look. It was unlike her to receive strangers into her home and this behemoth of a man could easily have his way with her. Yet she sensed he was not evil as mythology would have her believe. Whether or not he was, she could not find it in her heart to leave him outside beneath the tree.

There is great beauty in this man, she considered as she took care to shut the door quietly, leaving him to his privacy.

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The only other time he saw her during the remainder of the day was when she searched him out to announce meals. He allowed himself a half hour nap to refreshen his body; when he awakened he decided to tour the grounds. There was no need for him to idle the blessed day away with sleep.

The georgic grounds were relatively small but there was still plenty of room for a barn and a reasonably-sized vineyard. It would be more than enough to occupy his hands and for this he was pleased. Keeping busy, particularly with manual labour, was a satisfying enjoyment for him. _Idle hands were the devil's work_, his mother used to warn.

First, he visited the barn where he found a few goats, a pig, some chickens and two powerfully built horses, one a massive Clydesdale. Initially the animals were skittish and shied away from him. Knowing it was because of their unfamiliarity with him rather than his odd appearance, he held out a hand to prove he meant no harm. After gentle coaxing they came to realise this and allowed him to stroke their muzzles as he muttered softly to them. He remained with the horses for quite some time, their gentle dispositions soothing him. He wished he had a few apples to reward their indifference to his looks but, alas, he did not.

As dusk painted the welkin in darker hues, he progressed into the vineyard. Song birds, riled by his disturbance, soared from tree to tree as they announced his presence with lovely music. This lightened his heart and he removed his battered shoes before continuing his walk. The soft grass felt like he was stepping on an airy cushion and he laughed in spite of himself before breaking into a short run towards the opposite end of the row of grapevines.

Halting, he breathed deep, his heart racing and lungs burning from the activity, eyes wildly absorbing everything there was to see. He fell to his knees with outstretched arms, raised his face to the heavens and rejoiced that he was there.

Later, after consuming his first home cooked supper in more than a decade, he and Olivia adjourned to the lounge where she offered him reading material. On one side of the room he noticed shelves reaching from floor to ceiling, crammed with hard cover volumes. At her insistence he selected a particular ornate tome because he liked the burgundy colour of the spine. It wasn't untill he sat in the room's second chair when he realised the book he'd chosen was _Arabian_ _Nights_.

Olivia noted the title emblazoned across the leather-bound cover and grinned, probably due to the book's erotic history. He returned the smile and nodded his own approval for the black leather volume in her lap. Plain golden letters spelled the words: _The Holy Bible_. Thus, they read for an hour and a half, a comfortable silence replacing the prior awkward one settling between them.

"We should retire," Olivia at last suggested. "We need to be up at 4:30 to begin work."

He closed the borrowed copy of _Arabian_ _Nights _and tried to return it on its shelf when Olivia placed a hand over his to prevent him. The small gesture punctured his heart, filling him with anticipated scorn.

"Take it with you to your room," she urged. "Books are wonderfull companions on sleepless nights."

He agreed and watched as she exited the room; he held his breath untill she disappeared entirely from sight. It was only then when he himself was able to move and enter his own assigned room where he shut and locked the door behind him. He got the impression that Olivia would never bring him harm, that this was a place where he could leave his quarters open but he'd lived on the streets far too long to defy his smarts. Security was always an issue with him because he had never truly felt safe, not even in his own home as a child. This resulted in a need for the safety of being behind a locked door, even in a peacefull home. This could be his first and only chance at obtaining true protection.

His eyes rested upon the crucifix hanging across the room. Sighing, he mimicked his earlier gesture in the vineyard, but this time kneelling before the religious icon. Never a devout person, he found faith in such an object frivolous and pointless. This God never protected him or his mother from the violent wrath of his ignorant father nor did He spare the boy from a lifetime of ridicule. Shunned by everyone he came into contact with and stymied by the vicissitudes of his albinism, the young man had always known his life would never improve by much.

But tonight he knelt before this oriflamme of a God he held responsible for his spectral body and hellish life, bowed his head and uttered a quick prayer. It was his first prayer that was not a plea for relief or help. It was a _real_ prayer. Opening his eyes, he looked upon the finely carved face of the suffering Christ and tears welled within them.

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Olivia grew restless that night. Her mind would not stray from the mysterious albino just a few rooms away. When their hands touched in the lounge an unmistakeable energy surged between them. By the way his muscles stiffened upon contact she knew he felt it too. She made the gesture to feel the promised strength of his grip and instead discovered so much more.

It would be a lie for her to say she didn't like what she felt. His beautifull white skin was roughened, the flesh calloused. It was sinfull of her to do so but she could not resist thinking of how those hands would feel caressing her body. It had been a long time since she was touched by a man and this one intrigued her beyond her own comprehension.

_Stop thinking unchaste thoughts of him!_ she reprimanded herself. _You've just met him! He is a gift from God, not a toy from Satan!_

At last, she curled up on her side and closed her eyes. When she fell asleep it was to thoughts of being cradled in the brawny arms of the albino. It was akin to being wrapped in an angel's wings.

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In the morning when Olivia cooked a big breakfast of eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes and toast, she felt confident that her guest would be pleased with her. But when she knocked on his door she received no answer. Thinking him to be sleeping too soundly, she cracked the door open and peeked inside. To her amazement his bed was made up and he was nowhere in the room.

Puzzled by this unexpected occurrence, she softly closed the door. Was it possible that he reconsidered her job offer and abandoned her in the night? Did being around her make him too insecure of his appearance so that he was compelled to leave? Her heart sank with disappointment at the notion.

The sound of another nearby door creaking open startled her.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," a demure voice purred from behind.

She whirled around to find the albino standing behind her: wet, dripping and with only a towel slung low around his waist. A quick inventory of the stark white flesh revealled how lithe and muscular the man truly was. His shoulders were broad, his arms and chest toned, stomach flat, all with admirable definition. Other features were noticed as well: the platinum chest hair that left a trail of temptation leading beyond the towel, the pale pink erect nipples, the deep well of a navel.

"I hope my state of undress does not offend you," he said, wiping water from his eyes. "You were not yet awake so I took the liberty to bathe and wash my clothes. They are in the dryer now, otherwise I would already be dressed. It is all I have to wear."

Olivia smiled in relief and approval.

"It's fine. You aren't offending me. I came to knock you up for breakfast and when I saw your empty room I believed you'd left."

The albino shook his head.

"No, no! I will stay as I promised."

"I appreciate that."

There was another awkward stillness but this time it was filled with the tension of unspoken attraction. She yearned to touch him and did not fully regret that her intentions were impure.

"I better go back inside," he said, his breathy French accent going straight through her. "I am making everything wet."

Olivia felt heat rise to her face at the implications.

"Yes," she agreed, "well, I shall bring your clothing to you once they finish drying. Then come down for something to eat. All right?"

He nodded, stepped back in the bathroom and shut the door between them.

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_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

Each haunting word bubbled to the surface of this mind, mordant insults shouted at him by his father and punctuated with sharp kicks to his seven-year-old body. His mouth bled when a tooth cut his bottom lip after his father landed the closed-fisted blow that debilitated him. Once on the floor, he instinctively curled into a ball to protect his face as the taste of copper poured onto his tongue, his father's boot repetitively colliding with him. He heard his mother shouting, begging for the beating to stop, that he was only a little boy. It did but she then found herself on the receiving end.

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

The words prompted him to work harder, purifying his cursed body with the sweat of his labours. Nor did he stop when Olivia called him in for their mid-day meal or when he realised the sun was burning his exceptionally sensitive skin.

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

The harder he worked the more removed from the abuse he became. It wasn't untill the sun dimmed on the horizon and the song of birds was replaced with the soliloquy of crickets that he trudged back to the house from the vineyard for a quick shower before supper.

The water hurt as it pulsed over his badly burnt body but he long ago learned the hard way to refute physical pain. Doing so made him stronger. Olivia didn't agree and was frantic upon seeing his angry red flesh. She questioned whether or not he would be spared any terrible repercussions from the burns. He responded that he did not know. During their meal he did his best to hide his wincing and gasping as the sunburns tightened his skin in dehydration. He felt like a snake about to molt but it wasn't the first time he felt uncomfortable in his own skin.

When they cleared the dishes together, Olivia instructed him to go into the lounge, strip and lie on the rug before the fireplace. In the habit of obeying without question, he did as told, although he was confused as to why. An afghan draped over the settee kept him modest when he placed it over his pelvic area then closed his eyes. Overwhelmed by relief from the day's stress, he fell asleep for an unspecified length of time, a blissfully peacefull rest devoid of any bad memories.

Sudden cold over his feverish skin startled him to wake up with a jolted grimace. In a matter of seconds whatever Olivia was covering his back with worked miracles on the discomfort.

"Apple vinegar and baking soda," she informed, slathering more of the paste over his body. "Takes the sting out of sunburn, although your case is far more severe. What are we going to do about this problem?"

"I need the work, mademoiselle. If I could not work I would return to the streets, stealing for food and struggling to survive."

"Relax, I'm not asking you to leave. But you _must_ apply a strong sun block to your body or layer your clothing. Let this dry. Then I'll clean it off and do your front side."

He was gratefull for her help but he could not relax. Even as he laid beneath her soothing hand his father's abusive words were reflected in his own thoughtfull ones:

_She wants nothing to do with you! You are an abomination and she only pities you! Why would she want such a perversion of nature? She is too good for you!_

Tucking his face into the crook of his elbow, he allowed a secret tear to fall. There was only so much a person could withstand. If she saw and questioned it he would tell her it was from the smart of sun burn rather than self-hatred. A surge of dizziness washed over him and he groaned.

_Mockery of creation! _the voice howled in his head.

Her hand dipped to his lower back while his body stiffened at the intimate contact. He willed her to move away from that specific location in spite of the fact that other parts of his body wanted her to stay.

"Settle down," she murmured in a deeper toned voice, which did not help reinforce his willpower. "You're so taut. There's no need to be with me."

"It is from my labours," he fibbed, taking full advantage of the perfect excuse.

"And so it is. From your hard work today."

She sounded unconvinced, he decided with disdain.

His controlled decorum was even more difficult to keep when Olivia turned him flat on his back to duplicate the process over his front side. As suspected, it was far worse and he prayed that she didn't notice. Olivia was gracious enough to spare him the humiliation if she did. For that small mercy he was indebted.

The beautifull woman spent the remainder of the evening nurturing him in his time of need. He wondered what he'd finally done right to receive such a good windfall.

Later still, he knelt in thanksgiving before the crucifix in his room but more as a tribute to his dead mother than to God. He thought that it would develop into a positive habit if he did so every night.

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_That poor man!_ Olivia's conscious scolded her while she applied the paste to the albino's burnt body. _Look what happened to him on my account!_

It wasn't as if she forced him, she reasoned. She urged him to join her for a break and keep out of the sun when it became too hot to bear. Furthermore, when he refused to eat, she selfishly consumed her meal out on the porch so she could watch him work. It crossed the line between morality and exploitation, she was aware, yet she could not resist staring.

He was absolutely breathtaking and her eyes refused to stray from the straining muscles of his arms and back. His pale body gleamed with perspiration and she related it to the dust on a moth's shimmering wings. How would he react if she complimented or touched him? He wasn't used to kindness and that disturbed her. It was tragic that the ill-treatment of such a unique person was acceptable and tolerated. His differences were what made him beautifull in her opinion.

That night at supper she became fearfull when she saw the results of the sun's punishment on his flesh. While they ate she caught him attempting to conceal his pain several times, placing more guilt on her.

_I'll never allow him to work like that again!_ she vowed. _He isn't a slave!_ _This is his first day! What must he think of me?_

Wanting to make amends, she remembered a home remedy for sunburn that her grandmother used to make then told the tormented albino to go into the lounge and remove his clothes. She mixed the concoction in a huge bowl as quickly as possible in a quantity large enough to cover his body.

Upon entering the room she found him stretched out on his stomach and dozing. Captivated, she watched for a brief time before setting to work. At first she was afraid to touch the poor man because he was in obvious agony. When she placed a hand on his back, she felt the trapped heat radiating from him and upon contact, he flinched. She apologised and began application. Initially, his body quivered when the coollness clashed with the heat. Once on, the paste seemed to help him and that gave _her_ solace as well.

But as it always seemed to do, her mind drifted from his welfare to _other_ things less honourable. When observing his stamina in the vineyard today, she pondered how well it could be used to service a lover. Worse, after he turned over, she realised that she wasn't alone in her thoughts. It took a surmountable volume of will-power to not whisk away the afghan and _truly_ care for him.

He kept his eyes shut, probably to avoid the temptation he evidently felt so she focused on his handsome face to dispell the naughty thoughts about what was happening below. At rest, he looked angelic and she fought against placing a soft kiss on his pale pink lips. She noticed, too, how his body shuddered each time her hand touched him. It only clarified for her that he was unused to a humane touch.

_What horrors have you suffered?_ she inquired.

The possibilities made _her_ quake.

**To be continued...**

**Author's Note:** You might know me from my Remus Lupin novel _Once a Wolf_. I decided to try my hand at another character I feel equally passionate about: Silas from _The Da Vinci Code_. When I read the book a while ago, I fell as deeply in love with him as I did with Lupin from the _Harry Potter_ series. I have a predilection for unique, tragic characters, as you see. Not to mention, Silas and _The Da Vinci Code_ gave me the opportunity to dwell further into two of my greatest passions: religion and symbology (although I do tackle these topics quite frequently in my original work). Release of the movie helped inspire this fan fiction. Those of you reading _OaW_, have no fear. I did not quit writing it (I've just posted a new chapter). As a matter of fact, I've been taking turns writing _Once a Wolf_, _Haunting_ _a_ _Ghost_ and an original story all of my own, so my creativity has been in overdrive and keeping me extremely busy. That is fine since it has been a few months since life allowed me time to write. But now I'm back in full force and I have to make up for lost time. At any rate, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed. More will follow, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The morning after she covered him in the home remedy, he woke up with a fever and blisters beneath his skin. Olivia served him breakfast in bed but when she noticed the blisters, she immediately went to retrieve aspirin for the pain and aloe cream to cool the burns.

"You should take a cold bath," she suggested. "It'll help take the heat out."

"I will," he agreed quietly, avoiding her eyes.

She then left him to eat but he had no appetite. Instead, he stared blankly at his food, pushing it along the plate with his fork. Finally, he chose to leave his breakfast to take the more appealling cold bath. The shock of the icy water as he slid his sun-beaten body into the enveloping liquid caused him to gasp and hesitate. Slowly he continued sinking into the claw-foot tub and, for the first time since his arrival, he completely relaxed.

However, the solitude and rest did not allow him to escape himself. There is no worse enemy than one's self, he knew, as he questioned the recent change of events in his life. Again, his father's words struck more emotional blows to his self-esteem but this time he argued against it.

_Ghost!_

_I am _not_ a ghost or I would be unable to feel!_

_Abomination!_

_My mother loved me and that was enough!_

_Freak!_

There was no rebuttal for that one. He could not dispute that he was a freak. His only reprieve was that the condition was not his fault, he never asked for it. He remembered the first time he noticed his differences. A precocious youngster, he compared his arms to those of the other children in the playground and saw that his were different. He would simply look back and forth from his arms to those of his peers, mystified by his appearance. Confusing him further, the other children wouldn't play with him. He _tried_ to make friends but they called him a monster and ran. A few times they even struck him. He always found himself playing alone in the furthest corner away, enviously and hopefully watching them carry on with their playing. Always on the outside looking in, getting older did not stop the disrespect; schoolmates taunted him as relentlessly as his own father did. The child found himself a pariah whose only wrong was that his appearance was unique from everyone else's.

He knew the detrimental flashback of those harsh words and actions was what inspired him to work so obsessively hard in the sun. Yet he feared his obstinance to seek shade held a different purpose: he wanted to be normal. He wanted to get rid of the ghost by giving colour to his flesh. He wanted to tan and he was willing to risk his health to do so.

Moreover, he wanted Olivia to think him attractive and fill her with desire rather than pity. For once, he wanted to get the girl. He was tired of unrequited affections that merited sympathy rather than love. He wanted to love but wanted more. He wanted to _be_ loved in return. Now he suffered for his defiant mistake and she _still_ did not view him as someone desirable. She didn't _want_ to love him. And he was stuck with piercing sunburn. That was fine. He didn't expect empathy in exchange for his stupidity. Besides, he long ago accepted pain as a normal part of his life.

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Olivia would not allow him to work for several days, disputing that the crops were secondary to his health. To his dismay, she mentioned hiring an extra hand while he recovered. He didn't agree with her but kept his protests silent.

At first, her care was refreshing; nevertheless, after a few days of sitting idle with himself as his only company during the majority of the time, he grew agitated and annoyed with her. Fearing that he was in peril, she examined his backside for any signs of skin anomalies with cancerous potential on a daily basis. He still stayed quiet and let her check him, knowing she was right in that he couldn't see his back well enough to do it on his own, even with the aid of a mirror.

The only real plus in the time he was bed-ridden was he managed to read quite a few books from the lounge. His favourite was written by a woman named Shelley and it was titled _Frankenstein_. He commiserated with the so-called monster in the book, knowing fully well what it was like to be treated maliciously for being different. Like him, the monster was mistreated based on his ghastly appearance, something the creature was not at fault for; no-one wanted him near them and ignorantly chased him away. Like him, the monster wanted to belong, be a part of something good, have a companion who loved him. The monster taught himself to speak by mimicking a blind man and his family, similar to how, when he was younger, the albino had taught himself to read with old magazines he found in the trash. Other than surviving on the streets at such an immature age, his self-taught education was his greatest achievement. It was something he took great pride in.

The most interesting thing about the monster was that he ended up not being a monster after all. The true monster was the creature's creator, a stubborn self-righteous scientist who the albino loathed due to his similar experienced displacement in the world. Just as the scientist-creator turned against the monster he created, the albino's father turned against the child he made. And, like him, the monster killed not only accidentally but also as prerequisite to survive.

Both angry and distraught by the touching fiction, he finished it in a single day. Of course when Olivia came in for her inspection of his skin, he snapped quickly back to his reserved self, actually hiding the book beneath his pillows so she couldn't see it.

As he stood bare from the waist up, suffering through another embarrassing once-over, Olivia struck a blow by announcing that she hired someone else to work in the vineyard while he was incapacitated. Not wanting to hold his tongue on the subject any more, he complained that he was fine and wanted to return to his daily routine. She assured him that he would still have his job when he was ready but that the vineyard still needed tending in the meantime. He was not willing to pursue the topic with her and let her take him back to bed.

For the next two weeks he thought about the repercussions having another man around the vineyard would bring. Olivia informed him that Étienne Laroux was already experienced in vineyard work, a piece of knowledge that surprisingly boilled the albino's blood with jealousy. Who was this new man to come in, take over his job and spend so much time with Olivia! He found himself pacing the floor of his bedroom, seething in anger and covetousness, wanting to confront this intruder Étienne Laroux and establish that _he_ was there first.

Anxious to meet this new male prying in his territory, he nagged Olivia for a week to put him back in the vineyard. All the while he managed to conceal from her his real motive of facing the new help. Inspired by his impatience, she let him work but he was upset when she put him in the basement to prepare the fermenting machines for the on-coming harvest. He wasn't going to meet the new hire any time soon if he was in the basement while Laroux was in the vineyard. Grudgingly, he kept his anger coolled in Olivia's presence whenever she came to check his progress.

Not even at supper did he get to confront the man. When he inquired whether or not Laroux would join them for their meal, Olivia told him that he lived in town and went home at the end of the work day. This relieved him because he had Olivia to himself but it didn't help with his desire to meet the man. _Soon_, he thought. _Very soon_.

During all of this, the passing weeks revealled that his plot to colour out the ghost failled. The sunburn slowly healled as layers of skin sloughed off but the same alabaster flesh lay beneath. It was expected but nevertheless it infuriated the albino. The good thing was there were still no signs of cancer so Olivia's exams, which at first humiliated then angered then enticed him, stopped altogether. She advised, however, that he continue monitoring his body himself, which he did unhappily. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror to do this, he was disgusted by what he saw.

_Why must I be such a debasement of humanity? If I was a normal man, Olivia would love me!_

Irate with himself for being unable to change, he cried out in frustration then put his fist through the bedroom wall. The crucifix rattled on its nail above him but held steadfast to its mount.

The commotion brought Olivia rushing in to check his welfare. Immediate remorse filled him for causing alarm to her and destruction to the room she generously provided him with. Now she was sure to tell him to leave.

"What's wrong!" she frantically questioned.

Her eyes fell on his fist, from which a claret river streamed down his otherwise colourless forearm to drip off his elbow onto the hard wood floor below.

"What happened!" she prodded.

Then she saw the hole in the wall and groaned. He felt terrible shame for his actions.

"I am so very sorry," he apologised, down-trodden. "I will repair the wall and leave."

"_Leave?_ Why would you leave?"

"Because…"

"I don't expect you to _leave_. I don't _want_ you to. Why would I?"

"The damage…"

"Can be fixed. Now come into the wash room and we'll patch you up."

Gently, she took his already bruising, swollen hand and led him into the bathroom where she rinsed the blood off in the sink.

"What happened?" she firmly pursued. "Why did you do this to yourself?"

"Ah…ah, I want to be normal," he stammered reluctantly. "The sunburn went away."

"And you wanted the colour to stay."

"Oui, mademoiselle." His voice was barely audible from the mortification he felt.

Olivia examined his hand, inspecting for broken bones by making him bend at the wrist and flex his fingers.

"Nothing's broken," she diagnosed.

He watched as she soaked a small towel in cold water then wrapped it around his hand.

"I don't think you should concern yourself with your flesh."

The albino couldn't believe his ears.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked.

"Because you were born this way for a purpose."

"Perhaps as a cruel amusement to others. My own father hated me. He beat me and called me ghost."

"Then your father was an exceptionally cruel man. He should've loved you all the more."

"I am a monstrosity. He had every right to despise me. I am a disgrace to his name."

"If you ask _me_ you are an _honour_ to the name."

"How can I be, with my disease?"

"Because you overcome the trials of your _uniqueness_."

He made every attempt to keep his gaze dropped, preventing her from seeing his red eyes or the great hurt reflected in them.

"Follow me," she requested softly. "I want to show you something."

He did as asked, trailling behind her to the lounge where she kept the Bible in her reading chair. Curious, he waited as she leafed through the fragile gilded pages before coming to a stop somewhere at the end of the book. Handing the Bible to him, she directed:

"Revelation, Chapter 1, verses ten through fourteen. Read it aloud."

He peered up at her, uncertain about her intentions, and hesitated untill she pressed him to read. His eyes fell back on the pages where they located the verses she expected him to recite.

"'I was in the Spirit on the Lord's Day, and I heard behind me a loud voice, as of a trumpet, saying "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last." Then I turned to see the voice that spoke with me and having turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the seven lampstands One like the Son of Man, clothed with a garment down to the feet and girded about the chest with a golden band. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes like a flame of fire.'"

He raised his own eyes of fire, eyes that were so different they were even rare among other albinos, from the page and stared at her in perplexity.

"What does this mean?"

"It means," she responded, reclaiming the Bible and placing it back in her chair, "that when Christ returns to this Earth he will be like you. He'll take the form of a flame-eyed albino. Do you understand why?"

He shook his head, "No, I do not."

"Because his whiteness will symbolise that he is pure, free from wickedness and sin. If your father abused you for being white as a ghost, then he is also passing judgement on Jesus Christ himself for he will have the same condition when he returns. Who is your father to pass arrogant judgement on our Lord?" She paused to let her words sink in before continuing: "Who is your father to pass judgement on _you_ for being pure and without sin?"

Her words stung him, for he was not sinless. His father was forced to repent for his transgressions, butchered at the hands of his own small son. He'd been a lost little boy, a murderer at the tender age of seven. _Seven!_ An age that should have been innocent and unmarked by the horrors of abuse and patricide. Instead, it left his tiny hands tainted with his father's blood and his conscious heavy with his mother's death. Further life on the streets made him sin out of necessity for survival. If he wanted to eat, he had to steal. If he wanted to sleep in a sheltered area, he had to trespass. If he wanted to survive, he had to fight. He wanted to warn her of his homicidal crime, to tell her not to put her faith in him then thought better of it for she would definitely not want to harbour a murderer in her home.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Olivia detracted him from his thoughts when she leaned up and planted a tender kiss on his forehead. He stood stunned.

"Go to bed," she whispered close to his ear. "We'll fix the wall in the morning."

He nodded and returned to his room, nursing the hand still wrapped in the damp towel. Closing and locking the door behind him, he stared in disgust at the gaping hole in the wall then upwards to the crucifix above it. In tribute to his mother's beliefs, he knelt before it, as was his nightly ritual.

_I am _not_ like you! I am a _demon_! I am a _ghost_! I am not like you in the least!_

Crawling into bed for the night, one last thought occurred to him as he focused on the crucifix:

_I am not at all like you but I want to be…_

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He half-lied to Olivia that he was able to work in spite of his swollen hand just so she wouldn't force him to idle more precious time away. It was too unbearable for him to be alone with his thoughts.

They worked side by side in the basement, preparing the barrels and machines because she still did not believe he was fully up-to-par for outdoor work. He could not believe that a few weeks passed without him meeting the new man. Olivia chatted about Laroux too often for the albino's liking and his grip tightened menacingly around whatever he held just to release some frustration. Once in a while Olivia would go off to supervise Laroux and ask if he needed anything. Each time she walked off, he was tempted to sneak behind her to obtain a simple glimpse of the mysterious Laroux. During break, he sacrificed seeking Laroux out alone for following her into the wash room where she handed him a large tube of stronger sun block, acquired the day before when she went into town as he slept.

In spite of his awareness regarding the reaction he would've received, he was disappointed that she did not invite him to join her into town. Accustomed to being shunned, he hoped she would've been different. She probably didn't want to be publicly seen with him or deal with the problems that would've risen with his presence. He didn't blame her.

He forced himself to put aside his self-loathing and dejected feelings by switching the negativity to Laroux. He wondered with malice whether or not Laroux accompanied her to town, once again doing the things he could not do. Was it plausible for him to think that Laroux was probably someone Olivia was attracted to? Not that he had a shot in hell, but he cringed at the thought. He hated the man without ever laying eyes on him.

No matter. He tried to forget his anger through arduous labour. Hard work purified. Nobody needed purification like he did. What disturbed him was nearly every time he took a quick glance at the beauty working beside him he found _her_ already surreptitiously looking at _him_. Whenever their eyes met, she went back to her own work.

Caught in the guilty act of staring at a freak.

So she _was_ like everyone else after all. He was nothing but a private freak show for her personal amusement. Bitterly, he moved away from her, out of her sight, to work where she wouldn't be able to watch him.

Supper was relatively silent that evening. She attempted conversation with small talk several times but he was not in the mood. Taking the hint, she finally shut up and let him eat in peace. Knowing he was bound for indigestion, he finished his meal as fast as he could if for no other reason than to vacate the area, escape her prying eyes, retreat to the esoteric room he occupied. At last, he rose from the table and excused himself so that he could shower.

She did not object.

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Olivia knew she shouldn't have watched but she couldn't help it. The albino was too fetching a man to tear her eyes from.

After he left her at the table, she waited untill she heard the running water of the shower to get up and tiptoe to the closed door. Hesitating just outside, she reflected on the wrongness of what she wanted to do. _To hell with it_, she thought, then slowly opened the door.

The albino stood in the bath tub, turned away from her, using the adjustable shower head she installed last summer. He brought the nozzle over his shoulder to rinse soap off his back and she gulped hard as the water cascaded down his rippling muscles in waves. His statuesque body glistened like wet marble; he was a work of art that disgraced Michelangelo's David, a living sculpture she was humbled by.

He turned around, facing her and she gasped, expecting to be discovered, but his eyes were closed as he savoured the caressing water. Her eyes roamed down from his handsome face, over the powerfully cut arms and chest, to the flat stomach then lower still to what the afghan kept concealled a few nights prior. She whimpered at seeing his impressive, uncut manhood and imagined, for some reason, that he must taste like vanilla. The sight and the notion were far too alluring for her and, body quivering, she took her cue to give him his privacy.

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The following day was the Sabbath and, reckoning that he would like a change of scenery, she consequently asked him to join her in town to purchase supplies. At first he refused with a look of dreadfull terror in his eyes yet with gentle persuasion he finally agreed. Driving toward town in her black pick-up truck, she sensed the unease in his silence as they approached. Not speaking a single word, all he did was stare out the passenger side window, his mind clearly laden with worry.

The first place they visited was the men's clothing shop where he was watched conspicuously by the dumbfounded staff. As they walked passed a pair of salesmen, she overheard one mutter to his companion:

"Ce qui dans l'enfer est cette chose!"

"Un fantôme," came the snide reply.

If the albino heard their comments, he made no show of it. Rather, he met their ignorance and unkindness with a passive disposition: she heatedly noticed how he walked through the shop with his head down like a wounded animal, his eyes diverted, refusing to look up, even at her. This cut her deeply. She felt the desperate urge to snap at the salesmen for their rude behaviour but refrained because she knew it would only add to his increasing discomfort. Instead, she glared at the salesmen and tried to relieve some of the dissonance by placing herself as a shield between them and him during their shopping spree. Whenever she heard any noisome remark made she did her best to speak loudly over it so he could not hear.

The entire sales staff went out of their way to ensure that they looked busy so they had excuses to not have to assist the couple. When she strived to get the professional rather than the gossipy attention of a few salesmen, they assured her that they would be right back, dashed off someplace else in the shop and were not seen unoccupied again. As she offered her female opinion to everything he chose, she noticed angrily that the salesmen rushed to help out everyone else who entered the shop but gave the albino a wide berth. After making their purchases with a sales clerk who squirmed and refused to look directly at him, they left as promptly as possible, a sigh of relief issuing from in and out of the shop. If he had not needed new clothing so badly they would have left without buying anything.

But if things were bad there, they were worse at the farmer's market where they bought fresh food for the week. The market was put into deeper disarray than the clothing shop had been. Here, in the otherwise lovely alameda, their hostile audience was more diversified as women and children were added to the mix. One woman actually dropped her packages and a small boy screamed and ran in the opposite direction, shouting: _"Un démon! Un démon!"_ at the top of his lungs when they saw the hulking man who accompanied her.

Furthering the nightmare, at merchant's stall Olivia brought an armfull of fruits and vegetables up to the counter to pay when the woman working there vehemently hissed at her: _"Séjour en arrière!"_ all the while backing away from them as she spoke. This time they had no choice but to make their purchases elsewhere.

It was preposterous that in this day and age the petty superstitions of an albino's ill-repute as being dark and evil, despite their look of purity, still held sway. Through it all, he held a mien of indifference that she swelled with pride in him for maintaining. Sympathetic to his predicament, she took his hand firmly into hers and gave the villagers something to gossip about. She noticed with devilish mirth that indeed they hysterically whispered as they passed hand in hand.

On their trip home, he retained the demeanor of tortured dignity and it was in these moments when she realised it wasn't simple lust she held in her heart for this man. She genuinely felt love for him. Reaching over, she again took his hand in hers, her touch theriac. Upon contact, he flinched as if expecting an assault then glanced in her direction, giving her a genial smile.

Supper was blanketed with quietness and she watched as he only toyed with his food. Blame weighed heavily on her for taking part in what happened earlier. She should have never coerced him to go into town. She should've left him alone after he refused to go. He ate little but helped clear the table when they finished. As he handed her the dishes she craved to touch him, to pull him near and hold him tightly in her arms.

"I admired how you handled things today," she praised him as they walked toward the lounge.

"What was there for me to do?" he retorted. "There were so many of them and I was only one."

They stopped in the hallway outside the lounge. Olivia extended her hand and discreetly clasped his. It was the third time today.

"There were _two_ of us," she assured.

His hand twitched within hers, his grip tightening slightly as if he wanted to draw her near. Instead he pulled his hand away from hers.

"Even still," he replied, his generally soft-spoken tone even softer still.

A pregnant pause fell between them like a heavy veil through which she could not see his pain.

"I am retiring for the night," he mildly announced, "with your permission, of course."

"You're free to come and go as you please without permission."

He bowed his head then left her, as always, wanting more.

**Author's Note:** A heart-felt thank you to all of those who have read and taken time to review and chat with me. I did not expect this story to be so well received at such a quick rate. Thanks a million, everyone. Special thanks to FuchsiaII for the constructive criticism that I would need to make the sun burn issue bigger than I originally was going to. Great looking out, FuchsiaII. Thanks to the rabid Silas fans at silasadore who urged me forward; an extra **EXTRA** special thanks to stargater98 for confiding in me about a shared past trouble. Keep strong and rise like a phoenix above it all!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He lay flat on his stomach across the bed stark naked, his preferred state of sleep, while reading _Arabian Nights_. The light banter referencing the scurrilous remarks made at market was as painfull as the discrepancy itself, rendering the book a welcome distraction. As much as he welcomed Olivia's simpatico attitude she did not deserve the turmoil he knew he brought into her life and he was in no mood to review the recent or past memories with her.

Finished with the book, he shut the cover then languidly rolled onto his back, enjoying the cool evening breeze that drifted in from his ever-open window. He wished he had another book to read to deflect his wandering mind from how lovely Olivia looked earlier. The black and pink millefleur dress she wore rode up her tanned thigh while she drove and it took all of his inner strength to veer his eyes in any direction other than hers.

In remembering that sweet torment, he revisualised the toned thighs and calves and imagined how they would feel wrapped around him, squeezing him in ecstasy. A familiar feeling in his groin signalled how he felt for her and he touched himself to relieve the agitation. His fantasies intensified as his manual stimulation became more fervent. She moaned…he panted. She writhed…he thrust. She tightened around him…he spent himself deep within her.

When his eyes opened, she was missing and his seed was spilt over his fist. Culpable feelings over his lust for the charitable young woman who provided him with shelter, food and fellowship accumulated within him. Then his eyes found the crucifix and his shame escalated. As always, his mother lectured him in spite of his contradictory beliefs. _How could he perform such a heinous act of lust in front of the sacrosanct object of Christ?_ she would question. He hated himself for giving in to the forbidden pleasures of the flesh, for not respecting his dead mother's beliefs.

_The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away._

If he continued to defile this sweet woman's home which she so willingly shared then it would be taken away from him and he would be returned to the streets. Wrecked with more remorse for his actions, he needed to escape the hallowed eyes of Christ. He _had_ to get away! Not wanting to risk Olivia seeing him au natural, he did what he considered best and exited with a gracefull jump out the window.

For a brief suspension of time he remained frozen in the crouching position he landed in, shocked by the freedom he felt for being away from those prying wooden eyes. The same cool nocturnal zephyr that reached him inside the bedroom now caressed him like a comforting hand.

Perhaps it was the breath of God or maybe the hand of the Devil trying to further provoke him. It could've been either but he knew not which. His body shuddered involuntarily due in part to his struggle to stave off additional tainted thoughts as well as from exposure to the elements. He curled up in the foetal position, his back against the wall, while he lost himself in a meditative trance.

That was when he saw it. Off in the distance his tired eyes found a blotch of light hovering just above the ground. Captivated, he watched intently as it floated nearer, enlarging in size. Was this a true spirit or a hallucination? The answer was unclear to him even as the light formed an androgynous being of great beauty. The being was typically dressed in white robes and had long, flowing blond hair that fanned out as if by a wind.

But the albino noticed that there no longer _was_ a wind. The atmosphere was completely stilled in the wake of this being's arrival. An odd warmness encompassed him along with an inexplicable peace. The being reached out but did not touch him. He closed his eyes to enjoy the contact for he did not often get touched in a positive way.

_It must be an angel!_

Somewhere in the split second between the angel striving for him and the closing of his eyes, he made the sudden connection that this was a messenger of the God he didn't trust. Acting mala fide in his comprehension, he cracked open his eyes in a hatefull glower then defiantly spit at the being.

The angel recoilled in horror at the deliberate motion of vehemence, giving him a sorrowfull look as it did. The warm positive feeling it imposed on him intensified rather than dissipated.

"You let him beat me!" he accused through clenched teeth. "You made me like this and let him brutalise me for it! Then you let him kill my mother! She only wanted to protect me and you let her die! I _hate_ you! Get away from me! I have no need for you! _Go away!_"

The angel raised itself in a position superjacent to the screaming albino, never leaving but withstanding the steady stream of billingsgate pouring from the young man's mouth. He ranted for several minutes at the angel, putting into venomous words his eighteen years of violence, hatred, and alienation. The angel soaked the mistreatment up like a sponge, erasing it from the heart of the human soul out of which it came.

At last, someone calling his name ceased his gunfire-like words. Listening intently, he heard his name whispered again and he realised it was coming from the bedroom. Standing, he peered back inside the vacant room. Then it felt as if he was being lifted up by the angel above him untill he was able to crawl back inside through the window.

Eyes trained on the crucifix, he walked toward it, knowing it was the only possible source for the voice. Edging nearer, he scrutinised the fine details in the xylography of Christ's face. Incredibly life-like, it sent chills down his spine and made the hair on his arms raise with awe.

_I died for you!_ he distinctly heard the figure whisper. He gulped when it reiterated: _I died for you!_

A crushing pressure weighed down on his skull and he cried out, holding his head. A searing white light blazed before his eyes then faded to a scene he was only vaguely aware of from stories his mother once told him.

Christ beneath the olive trees, betrayed with a kiss from Judas in Gethsemane. Then Roman soldiers arrived, accosting him, beating the passive man to his knees then binding him with heavy chains.

In a flash, the scenario changed.

Christ stood on one side of Pontius Pilate's throne, sullen and objectified as a wicked blasphemer by the multitudes shouting his name unanimously below, condemning him and freeing the murderer Barabbas who stood on the opposite side of the throne, a look of desperate relief on the true criminal's face.

The albino gasped and the room spun like a tornado around him, the crushing sensation feeling as if it would split his skull at any second.

_I died for you!_ the stilted Christ reminded persistently.

Another scene erupted into his head. Christ was being flogged mercilessly, his back flayed and raw, blood dripping into his eyes from the wounds created by the infamous crown of thorns. When he collapsed on a marble slab slickened with his own gore, the soldiers bound him to a post so they could resume the thrashing. He saw the eyes of Christ's mother Mary and concluded that in bearing witness to this dreadfullness inflicted upon her own child she was herself already dead.

The great albino fell to his knees and vomited.

The scene changed yet again and there were more anguished cries as Christ received spikes through his feet and wrists, nailled upon a cross between two thieves. The soldiers and spectators made fun of the dying man who was given vinegar to drink and had stones cast at him. The utterance of: _Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?_ Then came the mortal skewering with the Spear of Destiny and the jubilant faces of the audience transformed to unadulterated terror as they realised what they had done. The sky grew dark then everything went black.

The albino sprawled across the floor, narrowly missing his vomit, and gasped for breath. His body lay in a crumpled heap, drenched with sweat, but the pain in his head vanished, as did all awareness like he was in a deprivation chamber. He felt calm for a few moments before he convulsed, twisting as if his body deflagrated in a pyre. Then, miraculously, there was the revenant Christ standing triumphantly before his tomb.

_I am dying!_ he thought frenetically.

The flashbacks transmogrified from the life of Christ to a more personal scenario from the albino's own life. He was seven, the age he was when things changed from bad to worse, cowering in a corner at the apartment in Marseilles. His father had his mother pinned down on the floor, holding her head up by a fistfull of hair as he pounded her already swollen and bloodied face with a closed fist.

"_You_ brought that demon into the world!" he chastised her. "_You_ gave it life! _You_ carried it inside your womb! _You_ are no better than _it_ is! You are Satan's concubine! You gave birth to that profane _thing_ at my expense! It lives beneath _my_ roof, eats _my_ food! I should let it starve to death!"

"Please!" his mother cried. "Stop! He cannot fend for himself! Show mercy! He's just a _child!_"

The boy quaked in terror, his eyes fixated on the appalling sight no child should witness. He tried to stifle his sobbing but the task was impossible. His father turned his attention to him when he released a cry that was loud enough for him to hear.

"You hear that, you little bastard?" the man roared. "Hear her _beg_ me to spare you? I give no mercy to demons!"

The man lunged at the child who shrieked and ran in another direction, narrowly escaping the adult's clutches. But his father was relentless as he stalked the boy into the next room, sweetly calling in falsetto:

"Come here, ghosty! Don't be afraid, little ghost! I just want to show you something!"

The boy tried vainly to hide alongside the wardrobe in the bedroom but his pale flesh might as well have had a luminescent spectral glow in the darkness there.

"I can see you, ghost! _I see you!_"

With nowhere else to run, the cornered boy shrieked as the man charged at him, dragging him roughly by the arm out into the open.

"Please don't hurt my son!" his mother, who managed to follow them into the room out of sheer protective motherly instinct, cried. "I beg of you!"

With his free hand, his father struck her again, knocking her weeping to the floor.

"See what you made me do, ghost?" his father indicted, showcasing his broken mother to him. "Look at what you did to her! It's _your_ fault she's hurt! If you care about her you will kill yourself so her pain will end! You bring this upon her! End it, if you care! End it by taking your miserable life! You must die if you want her to live because she cannot live this way! I'll help you if you cannot do it yourself!"

He seized the child by the throat, strangling the breath from him. The boy retaliated by hitting the man's arms but to no avail. The much bigger man wrestled him to the floor, hands still gripped around his throat, the boy fighting for air.

"Please stop! _Please!_" his mother pleaded, amazingly translucent despite the violence she suffered mere seconds ago. "You'll kill him! My son! Please don't kill my son!'

It seemed as if her words held some substance to the crazed man as he released the child who instantly held onto his bruised neck and gasped in air foulled by the stench of stale alcohol from his father. This added to the previous times his father tried to kill him, the adult seemed to have a penchant for attempting to suffocate his unfortunate and only son, a realisation that made the boy's blood turn cold. How could a parent treat their offspring with such malicious intent without regret?

The man stooped down to punch his son in the side of the head then once more across the cheek, fracturing the bone with a sick cracking sound.

"Every time she gets hurt it's because you still breathe," the man profaned to the boy. "You will be the death of her if you continue breathing. I will end her suffering by choking the life out of you one way or another, _ghost_!"

Just as the misery reached its zenith, it ended abruptly. The first thing he saw clearly was the crucifix on the wall.

_I died for you!_ it repeated, the words running through him like an electrical current. _Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him!_

The wrecked young man succumbed to the divine intervention. With the help of the angel in the garden and the carved Christ in his bedroom, he reached a life-altering epiphany that night. He now saw with perfect clarity.

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Olivia found him in the lounge the next morning, reading the Bible by a ray of dim morning light. Outside it rained heavily and the sound of growling thunder awakened her earlier but she'd been too lazy to get up. She lay in bed untill her busy body restlessness forced her to get up to start breakfast. It was the Sabbath, the declared day of rest, making her all the more pleasantly surprised to see him already dressed and about. Her surprise deepened when she noticed what he was reading.

"Good morning," she addressed, not startling him.

He didn't peer up from the book in his lap but muttered in his soft voice: "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Olivia. I hope you do not mind my early rise."

She smiled lovingly.

"Not at all. But my interest has piqued at your choice of reading."

He closed the book, using his index finger as a marker, then looked at her.

"When you asked me to read the verse about Christ returning as an albino, I reviewed my beliefs. For a very long time I hated God for what He allowed to happen to me. With your assistance, my eyes can open to the reason behind my condition and my life and discover His divine plan for me."

Feeling the warmth of his sincerity, Olivia decided to press further. Taking the chair adjacent to the one he occupied, she dared inquire: "What happened to you exactly? What made you turn your back to all that your mother believed in?"

"Do you not think that being born with this ghostly visage is enough to detest God?"

She shook her head. "There's always more to the story."

He nodded solemnly and compromised: "If you bring in fresh coffee for us both from the kitchen, I will tell you all that you wish to know."

She agreed with an enthusiastic smile before scampering off to fetch two steaming mugs of coffee from the pot he evidently made earlier. Finally she would hear the sui generis tale of her most endeared guest. Fuelled with an anxious need to know, she rushed back to the lounge where she placed his mug before him then parked herself back in the chair.

Without persiflage or preamble, he relayed his biography to her.

"My mother was a pious woman," he began, "who prayed often. She was a beautifull person, completely in love with my father. According to her, my father loved her just as deeply and treated her like a queen…untill I was born. I was immediately disowned by my father who was convinced my poor mother mated with an unclean spirit to produce me. He quickly sought refuge in bottles of alcohol just as quickly as my mother sought hers in prayer.

"The frequent victim of my father's violent drunken rampages, she struggled to protect me always. She once woke up sometime in the night to find him standing over my crib, suffocating me with my pillow. Since then she kept me in bed with her, wrapped in her arms. My very first memory was of when I was three-years-old; my father made a second attempt on my life in our sleep. My mother started to lock him out of the bedroom after that. Even at my young age his cursing and pounding at the door was branded in my mind. He attempted to break into the room but the door was barricaded by everything the room contained except the bed.

"We stayed inside the bedroom for three days, listening to my father's continuous drunken rampage while he destroyed what few possessions we owned. I distinctly remember begging my mother for food, too weak and afraid to cry. She gave me a bag of peppermints that was kept beside the bed and I ate them while she held me and sang religious hymns in my ear. That moment is one of my fondest memories.

"My father always called me various derogatory names from outside the door. Freak. Abomination. Perversion. Mockery. His favourite was ghost. 'You are nothing,' he would tell me. 'You are transparent. I do not even see you. You are a ghost, therefore you do not exist.' He said this to me on his good, sober days when I tried to win his affection. On his drunken days he would say far worse. His words were a significant impact on my impressionable young mind. I once overheard him trying to convince my mother to take my life but when she refused he attacked her. I tried my best to defend her but I was no match for his intoxicated adult strength. Instead I hid and begged God to spare my mother, to end the terror.

"My father called my mother a whore of Satan and I was a devil child. In my mother's negation to end my life he told her that she was an iniquitous bitch to bear then give birth to a monster like me. He tried to force a false confession from her that she slept with a demon to create me, arguing that no son of his could be this way. He demanded that she summon her spirit lover so that he could confront them both. Of course this was something she could not do and, after she told him that _he_ was the entity responsible for me, her punishment was to be beaten unconscious.

"We endured years of physical, mental and emotional abuse at his hands. When I turned seven, he gave my mother her worst beating yet. Blood splattered our walls and it was all hers. I was terrified and cried for her, only to get punched with his closed fist and shoved away from him. He finished her off, kicked me while I was on the floor, then proclaimed me as a worthless ghost before going into the bedroom where he fell asleep on our bed.

"I tried to wake her up but…she was….gone. My mother's God failled her, left her to die at the hands of a monster and left me completely alone. I knew that after he came to and realised that he killed my mother then he would blame me. Without my mother there to protect me, I knew he would kill me without hesitation. Pent-up rage engulfed me in knowing I was next. My self-preservation instinct surfaced. I took a large butcher knife from the kitchen, crept into the bedroom where he slept in a stinking, drunken stupor and stabbed him in the back. Shocked by my surprise attack, he rolled over and I continued to plunge the knife into him. I did not stop untill he was still, his life draining from him in red rivers soaked up by the mattress.

"When he was dead I ran from the apartment. I never returned. I was seven years old, Olivia. I learned very quickly that if God did not help my mother in her time of need then He left me to fend for myself or die as well. I always believed that God hated my mother and turned against us both. I was a mere child, alone and homeless, the only person who ever loved me gone and no God to rescue me."

He stopped in order to sip his now lukewarm coffee, tentatively eyeing the astounded Olivia. She was imagining a small albino boy, defenceless in his filial responsibilities of defending his mother then forced to commit patricide to save himself. He'd been vulcanised by the abuse, emerging as a much stronger albeit damaged person.

He became uneasy from her unresponsiveness and nervously fidgeted.

"You think differently of me," he concluded. "If you desire, I will pack my things and leave."

She laughed and it resoundingly echoed in the room. He gaped at her in hurt disbelief, her laughter a sharp slap across his face.

"Why are you always in a mad dash to leave?" she questioned. "I'm beginning to think you _want_ to leave, that I offend you in some way!"

His expression was baffled.

"No, Olivia! _No!_" he corrected. "I do not wish to _ever_ leave here!"

He stopped abruptly in panic over the words his tongue allowed her to hear. Olivia smiled at his insecure indiscretion.

"That's good to hear," she affirmed softly. "I appreciate hearing it. This house is yours for as long as it's mine. Now on the topic you've confided in me about. I'm so sorry you were put through that. I wish things had been different for you. My heart breaks to hear what you've gone through. Nobody should be expected to endure that at _any_ age, especially such a young one. You did what you _had_ to do. I will _not_ hold it against you. I see a goodness in you that was left unnurtured and because of that you don't know which way to go. You are a good person who was placed in a bad situation. You had no choice in the matter. I am interested, though, in how it equates to my finding you reading Bible passages at the crack of dawn. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm just curious."

He smiled sweetly. Olivia liked the few times she'd seen him smile that way.

"I had a….how you say? A revelation…of my own." He placed the Bible beside his coffee mug then scooted to the edge of his chair. "I realised that Christ suffered as much as I have. I have always _known_ that he suffered but I never _realised_ the scope of his agony. I was in my room…thinking….when I started staring at the crucifix on the wall. I reflected on that Bible passage of Christ's return and I empathised with what he went through. Despised, beaten, ridiculed, rejected…just like me. And he endured it _for_ me….for us _all_."

There was a thoughtfull pause between them and Olivia knew beyond doubt that she was sharing her home with one of God's most endearing miracles.

"I'm glad you've discovered this," she told him. "It will help you more than you now realise."

"I hoped that you could teach me about Christ. I was too young to remember much of what my mother taught me. As I said, I hope my learning about Christ's purpose in life will then help me discover the purpose in my own difficult life. Perhaps I can also learn why my mother chose to rely on such a fallible God."

Olivia nodded. "I'd be happy to help you with your spiritual quest for knowledge."

Thus, they spent most of the stormy day together in the lounge discussing the plights of Christ, Catholic doctrine and various praxes among several religions but, most awkward of all, she repaid his openness by revealling a little about her life.

Born and raised in London, she lived the opposite life that he lived with parents who loved and adored her. Since she was their sole child they gave her whatever she wanted but taught her responsibility by having her work for it. _One day you will need to take care of yourself_, she recalled them preparing her. With these lessons, her parents induced a spirit of independence inside their daughter. Both of them came from good stock: her father was a financial tycoon while her mother inherited the successfull winery business from her immediate family. Having a knack for numbers herself and acquiring a sophisticated palate for the fine wines she was raised around, Olivia was an ideal combination of both her mother's and father's talents. She received the best education that money could buy and, after her parents died unexpectedly in a car crash during inclement weather, her mother's precious vineyard was bequeathed to her in the will.

The vineyard meant a great deal to Olivia, as she spent nearly every summer of her life there. She fondly reminisced about tales of racing through the rows of grapevines with her friends, much to the happy disgruntlement of the winery workers. They participated in the play by using limited ways like peeking through the trellises of the vines or telling stories and jokes. Now at twenty years old, two years his senior, with her parents seven months in the ground, she found her sedative in religion.

"Although we come from very different backgrounds," he stated, "we share a common hell."

She nodded amicably.

As the night tarried forward, they sat on the rug before the fireplace, consuming a meagre meal of cheese, bread, fruit and some of the home-grown, homemade wine from the cellars amid clusters of lighted boysenberry pillar candles. There was a newfound ease between them that had not been there previously. Nothing brought people together like shared pain.

They were working on the second bottle of the vineyard's finest red vino when they both began to noticeably loosen up. Olivia realised with mild displeasure how much she giggled like a teenager at everything either one of them said and even though the albino warmed up more he still sustained a reserved composure.

On a whim, she took an exceptionally large strawberry from the platter, half crawled toward him then offered him the berry seductively. When he reached for it she tutted, denying him the fruit by pulling it away only to extend it towards him once more. Taking her hint, he leaned over, taking a bite. She smiled and popped the remnant into her own mouth then laughed raucously.

As she sat back and watched him chew, she noticed the chatoyant quality of his long eye lashes and hair, how lustrous the pigment-free strands were when captured by the candlelight. She thought the effect was breath-taking. He noticed her watching him and she noticed that he noticed.

She smiled and suppressed the urge to touch him.

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The tender way Olivia gazed at him made the albino conclude that if he aggressively pursued her then she would let him have her in this intoxicated state. His own interest grew hard against his thigh and he shifted to conceal it from her sight. She occasionally reached over to feed him something or hold the glass of wine for him to drink from, making him feel like a god being waited on by a nymph.

He wondered with triumphant glee if tonight proved the ever-mysterious Laroux, who she spoke of incessantly and who continued to somehow evade him, had some strong competition. Regardless of how attractive Laroux was he was not her choice. Not tonight, at least. Laroux was not here right now, _he_ was. She chose to share her home with _him_, not Laroux. Laroux was work. _He_ worked too but partook in leisure time with the lovely young woman. That _had_ to account for _something_.

The thoughts were dislodged from his mind when she swiftly and unexpectedly moved closer to him in a fit of laughter over something she had said but that he hadn't paid attention to. It all vanished in a fiery emotional meltdown when she backed into him, leaning her head onto his shoulder, still laughing. He froze as her body, warm and smelling of musky perfume, shook against his. Still holding her half-filled wine glass, she reached down to grasp his hand, bringing his arm across her midriff and around her waist.

She felt glorious, he thought, giving her a gentle squeeze. Her tummy, already rock hard from strenuous work and long hours in the vineyard, flexed beneath his forearm; he knew her riotous laughter made her muscles ache. Secretively, he nuzzled his nose into her soft brown hair, closing his eyes while inhaling her female scent. She was soft and supple in all the right places, smelt as intoxicating as the wine. He wanted her now; everything was right and ready. She was akin to the grapes they prepared for harvest, succulent and ripe for the taking.

But never having this type of intimacy before, he was at a loss for how he should respond. His single act of intimacy came when he was sixteen. A kinky prostitute who was on the daring side offered to make him a man within earshot of a horde of other homeless teens who'd been tormenting him. She was pretty but aged in the way that only the streets could age a person. First, he'd been uncertain, afraid that she was plotting to rob or harm him in some way. Even though he was large and oddly strong he also knew that he was not impervious to vulnerability. If this street-savvy woman caught him off guard, he knew she would be able to do damage.

Yet when he saw the amused faces of his tormentors change to shocked skepticism, he felt the defiant urge to do whatever the woman wanted. The youth's sex-driven mind could not refuse this stroke of good fortune. With a nod of his head he agreed and the prostitute set to work. She did not take him into an alley or another hideaway where she took other clientele, nor did she request that he take her to wherever he slept. Instead, she unzipped his tatty jeans and pleasured him right there in front of the stunned gang of tormentors. Fellatio moved promptly to intercourse when she stood up then murmured in his ear that she wanted him and could not wait any more. He recalled with a shiver how he raised her up, placed her back against the wall with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist then proceeded to lose his virginity on a desolate city street in broad daylight with eight homeless teens witnessing the entire event. In retrospect, he guessed that they were too disgusted to look away, like a rubbernecker straining to witness the details of a devastating car wreck. He counted himself lucky that they were not seen by any one else. After all, he was always in enough trouble by trying to steal food alone.

As Olivia nestled deeper into his embrace, closer to his body and his aroused loins, he modified his position so she could not inadvertently feel his swelling erection. If he did anything to her now while she was inebriated he would never be able to forgive himself. It would be taking advantage of her and he felt a deeply loyal respect for her that stayed his hand…and other body parts. He struggled to maintain his composure, even when she lolled her head around, pressing her face against his neck. Her breath smelt of wine though it felt amazing being exhaled hotly, heavily against the bare coolness of his neck and throat. The war in his head raged on.

_Que le ciel m'aident!_ he desperately thought, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. _I cannot help myself!_

This simple non-sexual act with Olivia was endlessly more intimate than the mechanics of losing his virginity. With the hooker it was raw instinct, bestial humping to satisfy his own selfish urges. This was not how things were with Olivia. Olivia _meant_ something to him. If anything of a sexual nature were to transpire between them he would consider it lovemaking, not simple fucking. He would be attentive to her needs and hold back his own. Not to mention, if anything ever _did_ happen he wanted her to be coherently sober and not willing because her drinking made her amorous.

_Olivia! Mon amour! There is nothing I want more, but I want it at a better time!_

Olivia did not hear his good-intentioned thoughts, of course, and he held his breath as she twisted around to sling an arm around him, nearly dropping the wine glass still clutched loosely in her hand when she did. He caught the glass before it split and placed it on the lamp stand nearby. Already in a drunken slumber, Olivia further turned so that she embraced him completely. He secured her to him in his pair of strong arms, nestling against her.

The wine was having its spellbound effects on him as well and he closed his eyes with impending sleepiness. His body began to slacken; propped against him, Olivia was already a dead weight in her sleep. He felt that he should have gotten up and helped her into bed before going into his own room but he was so comfortable, so happy, so drowsy that he lacked the willpower to move. Besides, he reckoned that he may not get another chance at holding Olivia like this. He did not want to pass up this opportunity to feel a reviving of his atrophied heart.

Soon blissfull unconsciousness overwhelmed him and he found himself in a happier place for the first time in his life.

**Author's Note:** Special continued thanks to my fans and friends at **silasadore** for all of their support and wonderfully pushy inspiration! I love you all to death. Keep pushing me on! And extra special thanks to my reviewers. Your words are hot chocolate on a blustery English day! Please continue giving feedback. I will also give a word of fair warning that it may take a little longer to post Chapter 4 as I meant to have it completely written before posting Chapter 3 but unfortunately it is only half finished. Again, I ask that you be patient and I will try to make it worth your wait.

Till next chapter,  
--Infected with Lupinus


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It took his full restraint to not molest Olivia after he woke up sometime in the middle of the night. They both had managed to find their way completely to the floor, a relief to him as it would prevent their muscles from further stiffening. Best of all was when he felt a warm body not simply against him but held _to_ him, encircled in his arms.

Olivia, deep in an intoxicated slumber, was snuggled in his embrace, her head upon his chest which rose and fell with an excited shallow breathing. Her form was a shadowy figure in the resuming murk now that the candles were burnt out, leaving the scent of boysenberry lingering in the room. Or was it the scent from the still uneaten and over ripening fruit surrounding them? He knew not which but it was too sweetly intense to his liking.

Forget the leftover fruit strewn about on its platters. Here in his arms lay the ultimate forbidden fruit, for if the apple was Eve's tasty demise then it was certainly Eve herself who was the fruit of Adam's fall from grace.

_Touch her! She is asleep! She will never know!_

Already cotton-mouthed in dehydration from drinking, his throat tightened as he brought his hand nearer to her breast then stayed just before contact. Each even breath she took brushed that breast ever-so-faintly against his palm. The proximity of their bodies maddened him. It took every drop of effort to retract his hand. He just could not violate her while she was unaware. Just as Elizabeth Lavenza was horrified to open her eyes and meet the frightening face of the creature, Olivia would certainly be equally startled if she saw the deathly pale face of a living ghost suspended above her. She would believe herself dead and scream. He would be unable to handle such a reaction from her.

Releasing an aggravated sigh, he wondered what could be done for the growing urges below his waistline. There was no way in hell he would attempt to pleasure himself with the object of his desire practically on top of him. He shifted away from her but it did no good. The need to move became desperate and he fidgeted as carefully as possible, praying that his arousal would subside. It did not. All movement ceased abruptly when she called his name.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, voice throaty from sleep.

"I have a cramp," he lied, smelling the sour taste of consumed wine on his breath. "In my leg. I did not mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"Late. Go back to sleep."

"Are we still in the lounge?"

"We are."

"_Fuck!_ This is what we get for drinking so much. We should be off to bed. We need to get off the floor."

"If that is your wish."

Taking advantage of her unawareness, he rolled away from her then adjusted his erection discreetly to a less obvious position. It was done in vain. It was _still_ quite obvious. A remedy for the predicament came to him.

"Let me carry you to bed," he suggested. "You are very tired and drank too much."

"_Drank_ too much? I drank as much as _you_ did."

"You are smaller than I, therefore able to handle less drink. I can help. I will carry you."

"_Carry_ me! Thanks, but I think I'll be fine."

Contradictory to her incredulous words, she sat up and winced when a pain shot through her skull.

"See?" he reasoned. "You cannot drink as much as I can. I will help."

Not waiting for a complaint, he rose from the floor, hoping that his clothed arousal remained unknown in the room's darkness then scooped her up into his massive arms. Moaning – probably from the sudden movement making her head swoon – Olivia leaned into him without any arguments of being in his arms once she was there.

"We should be fine for work in the morning," he muttered softly, carrying her down the hall to the master bedroom.

Opening the door with no difficulty despite the armfull, he stepped inside. The spiritual numen contained within the room was staggering and he reelled from the exalted energy. He realised he'd never before been beyond the threshold of her bedroom door and the thought of at last being in her personal chambers heightened his excitement in every way. This room was engraved with private history. Here was where she slept. Here was where she went to be alone. Here was where she made love….He wished it was light enough to see the details. Seeing everything would allow him to know more about the subtle, intimate world of his Olivia. She squirmed in his arms as he spotted the queen-sized bed and rushed over to settle her down atop it.

"Will you be fine?" he questioned.

"I think so. Thank you."

Reaching down, he slipped a shoe off one of her feet, taking the opportunity to rub the calloused palm of his hand hotly over the sole of her foot. She threw her head back and moaned, arching beneath his touch. Sheepishly, his hands glided beyond the long skirt she wore, up her leg and took hold of the stocking ending midway on her thigh. She wriggled again, this time sighing, causing him to stop. He realised that if she disagreed with what he was doing then she was strong enough to tell him no. Winding the top of the stocking around his fingers, he gently dragged it down then dropped it to the floor. The muscles of her leg stretched and her foot arced as he again took it into his hand.

"Feels good," she sighed.

"It does," he replied, in declaration rather than in question.

"Mmmm…." was all she managed.

He pressed his thumb lightly into the ball of her foot then proceeded to knead her there, making sure to get between each toe. When he felt her begin to relax he added his other hand to increase stimulation. He brushed his fingers over her instep then stroked his thumb firmly in circles over it before repeating the process over the centre then heel of the rest of her foot.

The warm friction of two glabrous surfaces rubbing over each other was as sensuous as sex and as equally enjoyable. Olivia certainly relished it judging by her wiggling and moaning. He was enraptured at her reaction, his eyes never straying from her. _This is how she must look when in the throes of passion_, he discerned, working her foot harder like he was moulding clay.

"Oh, _God!_" she groaned, tacking the name he gave her at the end of her exclamation. "_Don't_ stop!"

"I won't," he whispered, his voice strained.

The only time he discontinued the massage was when he reached up her other thigh, confidently tracing the tips of his calloused fingers over her firm, stocking-clad flesh, before hesitating at the end. Should he go further? Would she let him? He wanted to _so_ _much!_ Just a few more inches higher! _Just a few more inches…._

Out of respect, he settled for tugging the second stocking from her leg, pitching it to join its mate on the floor. There were no indecisive faltering motions this time as he commenced the relaxing rubdown on the other foot. Expecting and hoping for her to writhe and moan again, he watched intently but only received a short grunt and the faintest of smiles. As the tension was worked out of her entire body through the soles of her feet, her body slackened and soon he detected the yielding breaths of slumber coming from her.

Sighing with devotion, he stayed on the bed, studying her reposed form. She was the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes upon, exquisite enough to wither an angel's wings in shamefull comparison. He swept a lock of her downy brown hair from her face, briefly stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

_Magnifique!_

"Je veux te faire l'amour," he muttered solemnly.

The sandman flecked grains into his own eyes, making him yawn, signalling that it was time for him to capture a few hours more of sleep himself.

"Bonne nuit, mon amour," he whispered tenderly.

Bending forward, he planted a licentiously chaste kiss on her forehead then stood up. Upon reaching the door, he wavered from exiting the room. He wanted to stay. He wanted to slip into bed with her then slip inside her and…

His body shuddered after he stepped outside the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. The walk to his own room was covered in a few long strides and before he closed the door his hand was inside his rapidly discarded jeans. Unable to constrain the urges of youth, he created a path of clothing from the door to the bed where he frantically relieved himself, stroking hard enough for his arm to burn from the effort. He stifled his cry during climax by biting his lower lip, afraid Olivia would somehow hear, then fell backwards on the bed.

His eyes landed on the crucifix.

_I_ died _for_ _you!_ it reminded reproachfully, making him feel like a witch during the Inquisition. _Your_ mother _died for you! Ingrate!_

More livid than ashamed, he snatched his shirt from the floor, rushed over to the crucifix then tossed it over the icon. It didn't descend the way he meant it to, for one of Christ's unblinking, omniscient wooden eyes still peeked at him from within a fold.

"_Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak!"_ recited the timber Christ.

"_Sapristi!_" he cursed bitterly, rearranging the shirt to safeguard him from the stare entirely.

In a spitefull gesture to avenge the guilt trip, he wiped his spilt seed from his hand with the shirt. He would _not_ put up with the disgrace this piece of wood spouting lessons reiterating the principles of his mother made him feel for masturbating. Most of his time was spent criticising himself. Few things in life reminded him that he was a human being, a man with the same needs as everyone else. What little convinced him that his father told lies by calling him a ghost was precious to him. No Christ, wood or flesh, would change that.

"C'est pour ma mère!" he hissed crossly.

He finished cleaning himself in the basin, all the while wanting a shower desperately but not wanting to risk waking Olivia with unnecessary noise. The cool flannel felt something as he wiped himself down but it did not compensate for the desirable shower. It provided him with an acceptable cleanliness, enough to leave the bedclothes unspoilt when he finally felt sleep return to him.

The next day arrived with a firm rap on his door, one that he first thought was in his head as a result of the wine. His eyes cracked open only to shut tightly from the bright sunlight pouring into the room. There was a second knock then a name being called which he suddenly recognised as the name he gave Olivia to identify him and it was the lady of the vineyard herself who currently addressed him. This effectively jolted him up as if cold water was thrown on him.

"Just a second!" he returned as he raced to slip back into his jeans.

Then he opened the door to her, smiling brightly. Immodest and embarrassed by it, he knew he was at least presentable to someone he knew. Someone who knew he was an albino. At least he believed so untill her eyes indiscreetly roamed his porcelain flesh, resurfacing his uneasiness. Retreating back into the room a few steps, he found the towel from the basin that was left on the floor with his clothes, picked it up and held it to his chest so that it covered his upper body.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Olivia," he greeted, stepping back to the door.

"Bonjour to you as well," she said. "I let you sleep an hour and a half extra today. I myself got up an hour ago. Breakfast is ready. Come down to the nook and I'll serve you."

"I need to shower first."

She nodded.

"That's fine, but hurry or it'll get cold. I want you to have a hot meal before working today. We'll be out in the vineyard."

His heart thumped harder against his chest upon hearing that.

"We will?"

"Yes, Étienne informed me that the storm brought down some of the trellises last night and they must be immediately repaired. We'll need every bit of our strength to get it done."

"I will be ready."

She passed him a puzzled look that furthered his uncomfortable temperament. What was the matter? Was he offending her? Did she want him to keep covered completely? Disgust with himself blistered his psyche.

"Don't hide yourself," she insisted, gently wrenching the towel from his clenched fists, exposing his chalky torso. "Not from _me_."

The request rendered him speechless. He tried to respond but the words formed an excruciating lump in his throat. Did this confirm his worst fears? Did she not want him to cover himself because he was her sideshow freak? Perhaps she wanted Laroux to join in on the fun too.

_Abomination!_ his father screeched inside his head, never one to lose an opportunity to put his son in his place. _You are transparent! You are nothing!_

Familiarised with critical rejection, the albino felt shoved back into his place of degradation. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he took a few wounded steps backward into the room again, wanting the slight darkness to banish him from her view.

"What's the matter?" she questioned, not blind to his drastic change of character.

He shook his head to thwart any further queries, avoiding eye contact with her at all costs.

"Well, as I said, breakfast is ready so join me before it gets cold."

He nodded, letting her ponder his impulsive silent treatment. He saw the confusion on her face, perhaps a disappointment that he was wise to her secret joke. She walked off and he gathered clean clothes from the armoire.

That was when he caught sight of the crucifix, still veilled behind the dirty shirt he placed over it the night before. _How did you withstand the incredible amount of hatred and being ostricised by society?_ he mentally asked of the figure. _How did you handle it? Tell me your secret!_

It was obvious, he knew. Christ was able to tolerate the belligerence of a world against him because God's love was infused within him. The albino believed that after a lifetime of renouncing religion his sins were found irrevocable in the eyes of God. Christ _had_ a purpose in life, a reason behind the suffering he went through. The albino had none.

What could he do to rectify his wrongs? He was furnished a home and a job simply because someone looked beyond his handicap. For certain, there were not many people like Olivia who were willing to do that.

What was _his_ purpose, he lamented. He did not seem to have one. At least he could not see one. He was lost and perplexed, wandering in perpetual misery and siphoned from the rest of the street rubbish by a woman he cared about too much for his own good. It would have been wise if she just left him outside; he would've preferred it to becoming a joke to someone he felt deeply for. There was the question of whether or not she was undaunted in accepting him for who and what he was or if she was exploiting him in some way. Could it be that she wanted only to use him because he was muscular and lissome and she was in need of a man around the vineyard?

Sadly, he did not know the answers to any of his worries. He trudged to the bathroom where he took a quick shower and dressed. The haphazard thought of breakfast and what she prepared made his stomach rumble. It was then when he realised just how hungry he was. Plenty of hard work awaited him today and he needed his strength. He scolded himself for not sleeping enough.

_That is what happens when you struggle for control of your urges!_ he criticised himself. _Consider it penance for your lust!_

As he dressed, he wanted to kick himself for leaving behind the work boots he wore for vineyard work which he clearly pictured still at the foot of his bed. He didn't feel like struggling with them now; his heart was already where his ravenous stomach wanted to be. Boots could wait.

He buttoned up his shirt, hair still damp, as he padded barefoot down the hall, giving an apprehensive declaration of _"Zut!"_ to the boots in passing his closed bedroom door. Nearing the kitchen, he stopped short. Olivia's laughter chimed through the house like an angel's song. However, it was the male voice that spoke to her in a sibilant tone that caused him to come to a halting stop. This could only be none other than Laroux.

The albino's heart pounded ominously against his rib cage. At long last he was going to catch a glimpse of the competition! Which meant that he would acquire the advantage and to see Laroux first before Laroux saw him. Plastering his back to the wall, he listened to their whispered conversation, of which he could only hear bits.

"…is very sensitive to what others think," Olivia was muttering. "It's ridiculous. It's a no-win situation with him and I find his company unbearable."

Tears swelled the albino's eyes. Was Olivia referring to him? He _knew_ it! Everything she did for him was for pity's sake and she found him…unbearable! His heart weltered with disappointment; worse, it was an expected disappointment. He had hoped with all of his might that Olivia was different!

The need to see this man who dared talk about him behind his back cultivated immensely. Leaning over carefully, he stole a look around the corner at the competition. Behold, here was the obstacle of his affection! It was just as he feared. Laroux _was_ a good looking man. Hell, he was a dark-haired Adonis and the albino felt every ounce of hope slip from his grasp. His fingernails stung his flesh as he balled his hands into fists upon hearing Laroux speak, this time in an audible decibel.

"You need to cut him off, Olivia," Laroux purred in a baritone voice that disgraced the albino's softer tones. "He'll bring you to ruin. You cannot afford it. This land belonged to generations of your family before you. What would your mother say?"

"I know, but I can't help it. He's so…"

No matter how hard he tried to eavesdrop on what else was said, the albino couldn't. He wanted to run away and never look back. He was such a fool for hoping that things would be different for him! Contrary to what Olivia believed, he was not a sycophant in need of charity. He would pack his things and leave as he threatened to do many times before.

Turning on his heels, he shrank away from the kitchen, flinching when he heard his bare foot squeak against the linoleum floor. Did Olivia and Laroux hear that? Would they come after him?

_Spare me the humiliation!_ he implored God in his head. _I cannot deal with more disappointment! I cannot face her!_

He made a hasty retreat back to his room, empty stomach forgotten and replaced by silent tears streaming from his infernal eyes. As he gathered his things and threw them in the bag the men's clothing shop supplied him with, he grew angry at himself for crying. He hadn't cried in years. The last time he did was when he was eight, the recipient of an attack robbing him of the loaf of stale bread he stole from an open market. It happened in a park he raced to where he planned to eat in the shade on the hot summer afternoon. He hadn't eaten in days. The bully was bigger and older, fourteen maybe, and pushed the smaller boy to the grass, kicked him and pried the bread from his tightly clenched fist. When he cried, the thief struck him, calling him a sissy before dashing off with his plunder.

That was the last time he cried. Here he was now: crying again. Over a woman, no less. Going hungry was a valid reason for the last time he cried. What did he hope to accomplish by crying for a woman? What did he stand to gain by crying over _her_? _She_ was worthless to him; that crust of bread was more valuable than _she_ was.

Finished packing his paltry amount of belongings, he struggled to insert his foot into the boot but the back of the heel collapsed in on itself, making it impossible to put on.

"Fourche!" he swore between clenched teeth.

It was no use. The more he fought to get his foot in, the worse the leather creased and bent, impeding his intended retreat.

A soft knock interrupted him, freezing him and making his heart quicken. A voice called what passed as his name but he resisted looking at her. He didn't want her to see him. For the first time, he wanted _her_ to be transparent and fade away.

"What's going on?" she asked inquisitively. "What are you doing? Étienne heard you in the hallway but when you didn't join us we got concerned."

"I am leaving," he replied simply.

Her brow furrowed with confusion.

"But why? I don't understand."

"It is nothing, Olivia. It does not matter."

"It matters to _me_."

"Why would it?"

"Because I don't want you to leave."

"You would have me stay as some amusing yarn for you and your…guest? I cannot subject myself to that. I never allowed it while on the streets and I will not allow it here either."

This confused her further. He did not care. It was an immediate urgency that he left but he still could not get his goddamned foot inside the boot! His frustration escalated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted, infuriating him more.

Irritated to no end, he removed his foot from the boot altogether and bashed it frantically against the floor, releasing a stream of curses in French as he did. He didn't realise that Olivia crossed the room untill she firmly grasped him by the wrist, ceasing his rant.

"What's wrong?" she asked more forcefully. "_What is wrong?_ _Answer_ me."

He gazed at her with an intimidating frown, saw that he put the fear of her God in her and felt justified.

"I overheard you and your….friend," he granted. "I heard what you said. You find me unbearable to be around. That I will only bring you to ruin."

"You heard _what_…." Olivia's words trailled off as she thought. Then it came to her and her face lightened which only served to make him hate her more.

"Oh, _no_!" she exclaimed. "No, you misunderstood! You only heard a piece of the conversation, how can you _possibly_ know what we were talking about?"

"I heard enough."

"Evidently you didn't." She sat beside him on the bed and they subsequently remained cloaked in silence for a few concise moments. In that time, she dared put an arm around his waist and her head upon his shoulder. "We weren't referring to _you_. I would _never_ say those things about you."

"You certainly foolled me," he said sarcastically.

"It seems so. At this point you should know me better than to talk disparagingly about you. I enjoy your company very much and you are an asset to this vineyard, not a detriment."

"Then who were you referring to?"

She snickered a little, taking his hand.

"Another childhood friend. He worked in the vineyard last summer but owned a terrible inclination to drink our product rather than make our profit. He became an insufferable alcoholic who sneaked off to sleep on the job and returned drunk format mid-day. We suspected he was nicking our bottles from the cellar which was proven when Étienne observed him putting five bottles into a large rucksack he brought to work one day. I had to sack him and since then his alcohol addiction caused him to be fired from numerous jobs, placing him in financial ruin. He lost everything: his family, his home. He tries to prey on my sympathies as a former childhood friend to win my favour again. This business is the most important thing in my life. I cannot allow a person like that to destroy my vineyard. Let me ask you a question."

"What is that?"

"Why would you think I was referring to _you_?"

"Olivia, please do not toy with me. You know very well…"

She placed a hand over his mouth to prevent him from speaking, gently turned his head around so that he faced her and firmly pressed her lips to his. He could not respond. He could not move. He could not think. There was a loitering sense of frisson as she held the kiss solemnly. He became numb, removed from his senses save for that of touch. He thought succinctly that he was dreaming snugly in bed, that this circumstance could not be real. She ended the kiss but gave a, quicker yet more momentous one in which her lips parted faintly over his. Then she was away from him, back in her own place on the edge of the bed.

"Your inferiority complex is unnecessary here," she proclaimed, stroking his face tenderly. "I've told you that several times. I hope you believe me now."

There was a pause as he absorbed the possibility that her affections were not counterfeit as he led himself to believe. But the albino remained too shocked to move.

"Set aside your misplaced anger, unpack and go with me to the kitchen. I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Blind with rapture, he nodded in an automatic fashion then rose from the bed with her. He felt her hand brush against his then do as it did quite a number of times before by taking it, interlacing their fingers. He followed her lead on the way back to the kitchen. Then worlds collided as the albino's path at last crossed with the infamous Étienne Laroux.

**Author's** **Note:** Once again, special thanks to all of those loyal enough to continue reading and reviewing, I greatly appreciate every word you say. I am pleasantly surprised that I actually got this chapter finished in a reasonable amount of time. I know I issued the same warning for this chapter but don't hate me if I again warn that it might be a while longer before you get to read Chapter 5. I promise to get it out as soon as real life allows me to. "Haunting a Ghost" WILL continue…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Olivia was excruciatingly aware that during their walk to the kitchen, the albino must have felt like he was approaching execution. His hand was clammy and rigid yet he did not crush hers in his grip. Thank heaven he was considerate and minded his strength! If not, he could've easily broken the delicate bones in her much smaller hand. At least he was the epitome of calm temperance and that helped because there was no way she could make this situation less upsetting for him.

She was stunned that he would actually think himself the subject of her crabby rant in the kitchen. The fact that he felt second-rate to everyone else reflected the tragic life experiences he survived but he needed to learn that not everyone lay in wait to attack him. Meeting Étienne would be a positive step in that direction, she was confident, and hopefully it would be the milestone start in meeting her other friends. Hopefully the more of them she introduced to him the less fearfull he would become.

The earlier kiss was meant to deliver a two-fold purpose: soothe his fears of meeting her esteemed childhood friend and to at long last break the ice in showing him how she truly felt. She wondered if her feelings were relayed to him clearly enough or if he still was blind to what she made an effort to convey. Men are always oblivious whenever women try to tell them they found them attractive or were interested. Sometimes even blatant actions like her kiss wouldn't work. Or, worse, it had the opposite effect and gave men the idea that they were green-lighted for sex. She hoped that the albino did not prepossess the typical male ignorance that frustrated women since the beginning of time. Sadly, it was unlikely.

Before they reached the kitchen doorway she stopped and he followed suit.

"Ready?" she whispered.

He nodded but she could tell that he was beyond nervous. He was terrified.

"Here we go," she prepared him.

She stepped into the kitchen doorway, keeping him momentarily out of sight and greeted her friend with a sunny albeit Cheshire cat smile.

"Étienne," she addressed. "I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Laroux raised an eye brow and half-smiled.

"Please don't tell me that you have yet another dear old friend in the house," he said with a devilish smirk.

"Not quite," she retorted. "But he _is_ someone _very_ special to me."

"A new _petit_ _ami_ for my Madame Dauphine?" Laroux teased.

Olivia felt the blush rise in her cheeks.

"Stranger things have happened, my friend," she admitted. "Some day he just _may_ be. But for now, he's someone who means the world to me."

She leaned over and wheedled the albino forward but it was like pulling teeth to get him to move from the just-out-of-reach spot he anchored himself in. She squeezed his hand tighter and rather than coerce him into the open, she placed an arm around his waist, urging him to reveal himself on his own.

However, when he stepped into the doorway, Laroux's discretion was implausible. The earnest expression of joy on his face plunged into obvious shock and facial obloquy when he saw the unique man beside her. Olivia's reaction to her friend's unfavourable first impression was one of equal displeasure. Disappointed, she expected better of him. Used to treatment rife with discrimination and first meetings gone awry created by his formidable presence, the albino initially appeared angry before swiftly fading into routine melancholy.

Lapsed into his frustrated despair, he tensed up and if she didn't have an arm secured around him, he would have retreated. Trying to assuage the damage she unintentionally caused to his self-esteem with this meeting, she stroked his back in a comforting gesture. Had she known that Laroux would respond in a negative manner she would've delayed their inevitable summit. On the other hand, they needed to learn to work with each other; it was mandatory for Laroux to see beyond their differences and comply with the albino's presence.

Unfortunately, she sensed an unease projecting between the two men. She gave each a festinated introductory to the other then waited in an alarming silence, holding her breath. A few apprehensive moments passed. Then Laroux's frown broadened into a decidedly dismissive smile as he extended a hand towards the worrisome second man and greeted him.

"Welcome, my friend," he said with gusto. "I trust that my sweet Olivia has been taking good care of you during your stay."

"She has been most gracious," the introverted albino replied, refraining from eye contact with Laroux.

_Easy!_ Olivia thought as she sensed the tension escalate further rather than vanquish. _I'm here with you! I won't leave you! I'm right here!_

His muscles hardened like a coilled spring about to untwist. He wanted to run and she knew it. Resisting his urges, he stood steadfast and she remained at his side.

"I understand that you've been residing here at the house," Laroux continued.

The albino shifted his weight nervously and Olivia felt moisture gather between their clasped hands.

"Yes," he replied, voice faltering. "I am most gratefull for her generosity. Everything here is so beautifull."

"And Olivia?"

He was again brought to a standstill, blindsided by the insinuations of the question's directness.

"Has extended the best hospitality possible for one such as I."

Relief washed over Olivia for his smart rebound.

"Enough, you two," she broke in. "He hasn't eaten yet, Étienne, and he _must_ put food in his stomach."

"Must do whatever she says," Laroux warned the other man. "She's the boss."

"Would you like to join us?"

"If you don't mind, I want to get started with the trellis work. I've had my breakfast at home."

Laroux stepped towards them, hand extended for the albino to shake in friendship. He hesitated, staring in trepidation at the hand before taking it firmly into his.

"Good to finally meet you, my friend," Laroux said. "She speaks of you often."

Olivia noticed the dazed look in her guest's pink and red eyes. Shocked and suspicious, he watched the other man peck her on the cheek then leave, snatching an apple from the bowl on the table as he told them he'd meet them outside.

"Well?" she interrogated when the coast was clear. "What did you think of him?"

"He does not like me," the albino stated, sitting at the table in the nook.

"Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't _know_ you, how can he _dislike_ you?"

"Simple."

Olivia exhaled a resigned sigh, shaking her head.

"I know it's difficult for you not to but you can't think that way all the time," she insisted. "Sometimes you have to give others the benefit of the doubt."

"Why should I? No-one gives _me_ the benefit of the doubt. You saw this for yourself in town."

"_I_ gave you the benefit of the doubt."

A laconic silence occurred as the petulant albino soaked in the truth of her words.

In a much softer tone, she told him: "_Some_ people, when they first see a unique individual such as yourself, don't mean to offend you with their reactions. They aren't disgusted by your appearance but are startled by its rarity. If _you_ give _them_ an opportunity to know the man beneath the exterior you might be genuinely surprised."

He appeared wounded and perhaps in a way he was. An abusive past leaves a potent imprint on its hapless victims, one that takes a lifetime to conquer…if it ever was.

"I made blueberry crêpes today," she informed suddenly. "My only question is would you like single or double cream with them?"

At last he looked at her and, giving her a weak smile, replied: "Double, s'il vous plaît."

If Olivia thought his feelings of inadequacy were bad in the bedroom, nothing compared to how high they rocketed after he stepped into the kitchen doorway. Being that he was both happy and counted himself lucky for once in his miserable life he believed the good fortune was temporary for him. There was no denying how he felt for Olivia. Then Laroux had to barge on the scene, disrupting the safe haven he found.

Introduction to the man set him on edge; he never felt more inferior about his bizarre appearance as he did when Laroux set eyes on him. Here stood a man with who Olivia had a history; even if it was mere friendship with no romantic ties it was enough leverage to shove him out of the picture. Laroux was a fine, strapping example of manhood while _he_ was dependent on Olivia's grubstaking care. Laroux was an established, respected member of society with a job and a family of his own. _He_ was an albino freak excommunicated from humanity. There simply was no comparison between them. Since they were old and dear friends, why wouldn't Olivia put him back on the streets if Laroux found him objectionable?

The earlier comment to never hide himself from her, the kiss in the bedroom, her speech moments ago, was it all a grand façade to lure him into false security? Could she demonstrate such a malignancy? He refused to think her capable of it but he knew you never truly knew anybody even if you spent a lifetime with that person. Also, he yet had the experience of how influential Laroux was in Olivia's life.

While he ate breakfast, she read the newspaper and engaged in idle talk informing him of what was happening in the world like she was fond of doing every morning. He enjoyed listening to her too, not so much for the news as it was for the sound of her hypnotising, siren-like voice. But today his mind was elsewhere, that being the vineyard with Laroux.

They cleared the dishes and hurriedly washed them, he very conscious of each time their hands lightly touched. It drove him mad and in remembering the past kiss, he felt remorse for doing nothing about it. It was no plain friendly kiss. Whether or not she had real feelings for him was irrelevant. She made an offer with that kiss and he should've taken advantage of it. He could have despoilled her right there and released all of the pent-up frustration that nagged him since his arrival and without guilty repercussions. To hell with love; even if it was for sexual gratification it would've been fine with him. Starved for affection and simple human touch, he was desperate for reprieve. Her kiss made it safe; it was an open invitation and he was a blind fool.

_Quel con!_ he thought resentfully of himself.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he followed Olivia out to the vineyard in search of Laroux.

They located the beautifull man struggling with a stake tangled in the trellis wire. The albino rushed to help and stabilised the stake while Laroux drove it into the ground with a heavy hammer, all the time clenching between his teeth the shiny red and green apple he acquired from the kitchen. After the stake was in place, Laroux bit a piece of the fruit off, muttering a half-intelligible "Merci" as he chewed. The albino simply bowed his head in acknowledgement.

The day's work was hard and, compounded with the oppressive heat, was made even worse. Olivia prepared a pitcher of lemonade to quench their thirst but it was gone almost as quickly as she brought it out. As he drank his lemonade, the albino watched enviously as Laroux removed his shirt to work. The man's skin, beaded and streaming with sweat, was already sun-kissed and the pale man longed for the right and ability to be so blithe in the open. He couldn't oppose inducement to sneak glances at the man, realising in disdain that he peered over at his competition more than he stole looks at Olivia.

_Sapristi! Sapristi! Sapristi! _Life was unfair!

Having enough of it, he waited for Olivia to disappear at the back of the row they were working on to remove his shirt too but she reappeared and gave him a remonstrative look.

"Just for a while," he said, resolute.

She shrugged and allowed: "It'll be _your_ funeral."

In spite of her words she forced him to adjourn from their work to venture back into the house where she applied more sun block for fear that his sweat cleansed him of the first application. When they returned to where Laroux was taking a break of his own by consuming yet another apple he passed the albino a leer implying he knew something happened that in reality didn't.

_Let him believe. And _what_ is with the apples today!_

The albino chose to ignore the other man and continue with his work.

As the scorching day transitioned into a cooler but still humid night, Olivia decided that they did enough work for the day and announced so with an underhanded toss of a single grape first at the albino then a few seconds later at Laroux. First both tried to ignore it but the albino found himself the recipient of another grape striking him on the forehead while Laroux received another to the chest. The men looked at each other, a silent understanding reached as Olivia giggled mischievously. Comprehension hit the tiny woman as the gigantic men turned their attention to her.

"Now, boys," she reasoned, backing away as the allied y-chromosomes stepped forward, "you wouldn't hurt little ol' _me_, would you?"

"As surely as I was pelted with grapes, Dauphine," Laroux stated.

"That wasn't _me_, Étienne, I _swear_ it. Didn't I ever tell you? The vineyard is _haunted_."

"Really?" Laroux played along.

"Yeah, it's a poltergeist of some sort. _Loves_ to throw things at people. It does that all the time."

"Then we must take measures to exorcise the demon."

"Then we must go into town and fetch the priest."

"I don't think we need the priest, Dauphine. I know how to handle this poltergeist."

"You do? How?"

The men glanced at each other and without warning they charged after her. She screamed happily and retreated but they rapidly outran her. Laroux imprisoned her in a bear hug and swung her around, kicking and shrieking, to face the albino.

"I'll tell you how to rid yourself of the poltergeist!" roared Laroux. "Tickle her just below the ribs!"

The albino didn't need to be told twice and he attacked, mercilessly tickling the contorting woman restrained by the other man. She felt amazing beneath his large, calloused hands and he was tempted to bring his hands up…mistakenly…to touch her breasts but he couldn't bring himself to violate her overtly in front of Laroux. Instead his tickling reduced to gentle caresses and her laughter calmed to heaving breaths. Their eyes met, he continued to stroke her bared belly and things grew awkwardly quiet for Laroux.

"OK!" the handsome man broke that silence, setting Olivia down. "Maybe we should go inside the house?"

"Yes," agreed Olivia breathlessly, her eyes never straying from the albino's piercing red eyes. "I think we should."

The walk back to the house was as quiet as a cemetery and, worse, the albino sensed Laroux staring daggers into him. He didn't care. Olivia's presence coolled the heat from the man and he moved closer to her for comfort. Not to mention because it evidently angered Laroux and this he shamelessly took pleasure in.

Nothing came of the unspoken war that night. Back at the house, Laroux grabbed another apple from the basket, kissed Olivia on the cheek, told them that he would see them in the morning and raced home.

Later in the lounge, he elected to begin reading _Moby Dick, _chosen for its thickness. A few chapters into it found his sore eyes restlessly stealing glances of Olivia who was reading some other type of apocrypha, jotting notes every so often upon a legal pad that he didn't even notice was in her lap. She was curled up with her feet in the chair and deep in teleological thought, chewing on her bottom lip.

His eyes drifted to her dainty feet with the high arches and the immaculate nails, remembering how they felt cradled in his large hands. His gaze trekked up her calves and climbed the rest of her body then stopped on her lovely face. He _adored_ the way she bit her lower lip whenever she concentrated. It took all of his incredible forbearance to not saunter over to her, strip her lap of her possessions then nibble on that full and swollen lip himself.

As he observed her contemplatively, his thoughts transferred from physical to philosophical. The question of why she gave him work and shelter still tormented him. With Laroux and so many of her other childhood friends available, why didn't she hire _them_? They were the safer bet than some weird looking stranger she found in her garden. He could not shake the idea that somehow he was an object of amusement. The notion bugged him to insanity. He _had_ to ask.

"Olivia?" he called.

"Yes, dear?"

"May I ask a question?"

"Certainly." She closed her book, marking where she left off with the legal pad. "What is it?"

"Why did you offer me work in the vineyard if you have Laroux?"

She shrugged.

"Every pair of hands is usefull. Besides, I thought you would need the work. Mind you, I _did_ find you beneath my tree. You need work, I need the help."

"You did not employee me out of pity?"

"Not at all. I _told_ you I need the extra hands. Didn't I also tell you to lose your inferiority complex?"

"It is very difficult for me to believe I am here because I am wanted."

"If I didn't want you here I would've thrown you out by now, let you leave when you wanted to or had the police remove you from the premises when I first found you."

He was tempted to inquire about the intentions of the kiss but the words dammed within his throat. He was here because she wanted him to be. Then was he a toy for her libido if not for her amusement? He wrestled with his need to know along with his increasing urges to take her but opted to use sneaky apophasis to obtain answers.

"You and Laroux look very good together," he quietly appeased. "Were you ever involved as more than friends?"

"Not really."

A sharp pang struck his heart like a poison arrow.

"Not…really?" he repeated.

"Not unless you count an experimental kiss when we were nine."

The albino's heart restored only to shatter again when his thoughts returned to the kiss. Torn between fear and desire, he still didn't want to ask. He hoped she would explain it without his asking but she kept her silence while staring back into his eyes. Her gaze did not impress upon him the ridicule of pity but there was something else behind them, something that at long last did not make him uncomfortable.

After a few minutes of gentle, tacit affection, she stood from her chair, stretched and yawned. His hungry eyes ate the angelic visage before him in an unabashed manner.

"I'm going to bed," she announced. "The day took a lot out of me. Are you staying up later?"

"For a little while longer."

"Don't stay up _too_ late. You've had an exhausting day and could use the sleep too."

He offered her a faint smile then cracked open _Moby Dick_ to start reading. There was the sound of footsteps over the floor and he took for granted that Olivia was departing from the room. Untill he felt a cool hand lifting his head and he realised that she hadn't left the room at all but instead stood next to him. To his bafflement she leaned down to give him a second tender kiss on the lips.

Dumfounded, he was stolid even after she pulled back and waited for a response. He remained stationery and unresponsive. Leaning over, she murmured hotly in his ear:

"Why don't you join me?"

His breath blocked in his chest.

"_Join_ you?" he reiterated, his voice strained.

"Yes," she said throatily, her breath heavy against his neck. "Join me. In bed. Baisez-moi, s'il vous plaît."

"Mon dieu, chérie!" he groaned as she bathed the side of his face with impassioned kisses. "Je vous veux mal, Olivia! Je vous ai voulu pendant longtemps! Mon amour!" He began kissing her back between each panting word. "Je t'aime! Je t'aime tellement! Je t'aime plus que la vie elle-même!"

His affectionate professions were cut short when she called his name.

"Shhh!" she decried. "J'ai besoin de toi pour me faire l'amour! I need you _now_!"

Shriven from the guilt of his mother and the wooden Christ figure, he pulled her down onto his lap, his hands already up her skirt and removing her knickers. Simultaneously, her pliant fingers tore at the zipper of his jeans, reaching in, removing his swollen sex. Sweeping her into his strong arms, he raised her up then lowered her to the floor, preparing to enter her when…

With a startled jump the great albino awakened, nearly tumbling out of the chair, the book in his lap rustling to the floor. For a moment, he was disoriented and unsure of where he was. Taking a few seconds, he realised that he was in the lounge with Olivia still sitting in her chair, reading and taking notes just the way he left her when he succumbed to dreamland. _Merde!_

"Are you all right?" Olivia asked, concerned.

"I fell asleep," he asked rather than declared.

"Yeah, you did."

"For how long?"

"A few minutes. We talked for a bit then you started reading and you're so exhausted you just slipped off to sleep. I didn't have the heart to wake you."

He thought for a few seconds before bluntly announcing, "I think I should go to bed, if you will excuse me."

"I think I'll join you."

The albino stopped short. Did he just hear a _real_ proposition?

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle?"

"I'm going to bed as well," she rejoined, rising and stretching like she did in his dream. "It's a bit early for me but I need the rest. Reinvigorate my muscles for tomorrow."

"Oui, je comprends."

They walked out of the lounge and up the hall where they stopped outside of his room. She leaned up on her toes to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He was sourly disenchanted.

"A demain, amour," she said softly, keeping up their French banter.

He smiled and returned: "Bonne nuit, chérie."

Then he entered his room.

**Author's** **Note:** Once again, I extend my eternal gratitude to all of my faithfull reviewers and loyal readers and, of course, my friends at silasadore. You all make this tale possible with your support. For that, I am gratefull. As a little treat for you all to look forward to: at the request of some of my readers, I've been working on an X-rated version of this story which will eventually be ironed out and posted on another site I have in mind. I will keep you posted on that endeavour. But, for now, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

Till next instalment,  
--Infected with Lupinus


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sweet, gorgeous Olivia. Pious and sexy altogether. Thoughts of her naked upon her knees before him, greedily servicing him while he gently fisted her long dark hair, his head thrown back as he moaned, raced through his head. The reality showed a different picture, regrettably. He lay upon his bed, furiously masturbating with impassioned lust as the vivid images manifested within his mind. As orgasm approached, Olivia worked on him with abandon. With a final thrust of his pelvis, he came over his fist. Pale body glistening with sweat, he remained rigid untill his ejaculation finished then slumped back in a supine state.

Broad chest heaving, he kept his eyes closed and basked in the candy-coloured fantasy, completely spent. After his breathing stabilised he rolled on his side to pluck a few tissues from the box beside the bed and clean himself off. Sighing, he thought of the dream he had after falling asleep in the lounge. It was so…_real_. He swore that it was; it felt like Olivia's deft mouth was truly kissing him and the touch of her luscious flesh against his…He urgently needed this escape into his bedroom for release. Fatigued from the day, it was a chore to get motivated for a round of self-pleasure untill he recalled that dream which had probably been provoked by the playfull dalliance in the vineyard.

He smiled tenderly, pretending the pillow beside him was Olivia then embraced it in his enormous arm like it really was her that he held so dearly to him.

Then he saw the crucifix. That fucking thorn in his side, which still hung boldly on its nail across from him with his shirt covering the eyes that so sternly rendered his soul incorrigible. Affronted by its presence, he stomped angrily towards it, whipped off the shirt, tossed it to the side, and glowered back at the effigy. It converged on him, trying to soil his love for Olivia and natural instincts for sex with its sanctimonious sin.

"It is because of _you_ that she does not want _me_," he accused through clenched teeth.

_It is because you are a mockery of humanity!_ the crucifix vituperated in his father's voice. _Perversion of mankind! You are a ghost and she doesn't even_ see _you! You are transparent! You are worthless! You are _nobody!_ You are _nothing! That _is why she doesn't want you!_

He was enticed to tear the cross from the wall and snap it in half. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that the damned thing belonged to Olivia and he could not bring himself to destroy any of her possessions regardless of how tempting it was.

Filled with outrage, he growled and snatched the icon from the wall in a volley of French expletives. His crimson eyes frantically searched for any place to put the cursed thing to conceal it from his sight but more appropriately any place to hide from it himself. His eyes found the wardrobe. Not much was contained inside since he had yet to receive payment for his labours; he didn't have many possessions to begin with for all he had upon arrival to the vineyard were the clothes on his back and nothing more. The wardrobe was the ideal place to keep this condemning object.

Stomping over to it, he swung open the door and unceremoniously threw the crucifix inside amid a second round of French curses, then slammed the door as hard as he could. _Get thee behind me!_ He could handle no more of its spewing the reproachfull words of his father disguised as the virtuous teachings of his mother. It was no secret: he adored his mother but detested her religion. He never had any use for it and would unquestionably be long dead if he abided by those religious morals.

Then something occurred to him. Perhaps his mother used religion not to escape from the harsh life she and her son shared with the alcoholic man in their lives but to hide from it. By fabricating the idea that she would be rewarded with a happier life in paradise she could hide from the hell she lived in on Earth. Consequently, in her attempt to edify her son's morality and religious knowledge she inspired the reverse outcome and he hated religion. Olivia's devotion piqued his curiosity and made him consider giving religion a fair chance in hope of understanding his mother's point of view but each time he faced off against the captious crucifix he was discouraged anew.

Despite the thing being shut away from sight, the albino found himself twisting and turning. He _knew_ it was still there. He _knew_ it could still see him. He just _knew_ it could see him through the wooden wardrobe door with its lacquered, accusing eyes. If only it didn't belong to Olivia!

Reaching down on the floor alongside his bed, he snatched his discarded jeans and struggled into them as quickly as possible. The crucifix, this very room, both shifted to be assessed as the bane of his very existence. He didn't want to be in the room. He appreciated the roof over his head but the weight of guilt he bore from the crucifix was domineering and he would've been happier elsewhere in the house. It felt as if he could not _breathe_.

Once again he found his reprieve by slipping out the window, landing hard enough on the ground that pain shot up his Achilles' tendon, causing a whiteness to momentarily blot out his sight. Waiting for the encumbering light to dissolve, he shook his head to clear it…then peered into the distance in search of more angelic visions similar to before. Finding none, he let himself relax and release the breath he was holding. Out here, at least he was safe from God's eyes.

Relaxing, he walked aimlessly into the dusky warm night towards the barn where he unlatched the door, swung it open then stepped into the gloom. Inside seemed to be cooler than out and he could smell the animals inside. The animals rustled listlessly about their stalls and to ensure he did not inadvertently give them freedom, he shut the door securely behind him. He was confident enough to know his way blindly through the barn but even as he did he kept his arms extended, walked vigilantly across the floor to where he knew the big Clydesdale named Goliath was housed.

Reaching Goliath's stall, he gingerly patted the empty air before him then heard the massive horse snort so nearby that the beast's breath feathered across his bare chest. Goliath stamped his foot as the albino patted then stroked his velvety muzzle, cooing softly to him. It was better to have company out in the darkness than it was to be alone. Too much of his life was spent alone and he lost count of how much of his time was wasted curled up and terrified in the abandoned factory after murdering his father but had nobody to provide the comfort a seven-year-old desperately required.

In spite of his inured nature, he never wanted to confess that he still became afraid more often than not. He killed out of fear: kill or be killed and knowing how others were cruel enough to hate what was different he was a prime target. He tried to avoid taking life but his incredible strength compounded with juvenile fear found him doing what he wanted to avoid. He was aware that if he didn't kill them then they would've killed him. His father was the only one whose life he ever intended to take; the other two were out of survival. He still feared being alone, even when he was used to it. It mattered not if his companion was animal or human as long as he wasn't alone.

Forsaking caparisons and the toils that came with them, he opted to ride bareback. Reaching for the halter he knew was on a hook on the wall, he secured it around Goliath's muzzle, opened the stall door with a creak and led the animal out. The horse's heavy hooves clopped loudly through the silent barn, alerting the other animals who responded to the disturbance with their own sounds. All the while, the great albino muttered gentle coaxing to the even greater equine and led the animal outside the barn which he locked behind them.

Now he could see Goliath in the moonlight and appreciated the animal for the majestic creature he was. The albino had taken an instant liking to the Clydesdale because of its size, an issue that he related to. They were both immense beings with hard, defined muscles and in a show of gratitude that the beast was at least somewhat similar to him he drew Goliath's head in a gentle embrace, stroking the horse's corded neck.

Mounting the horse with minimum difficulty, he used the halter as a makeshift rein and gently tapped Goliath's flanks with his heels to prompt the animal into a light canter, guided by the halter rope. The albino slowed the horse down to a relaxed walk and directed him towards the vineyard.

It was as pitch black out among the rows of grapevines but Goliath's presence was soothing. He wasn't alone in the darkness and that was what mattered. Showing his appreciation, he patted the horse's neck during the ride and together they ventured amongst the labyrinthine walls of trellises. These walls gave the illusion of closing in on them so that he grew antsy from claustrophobia, something he did not even have. The towering trellises took on the omnipotent characteristics of the crucifix and circumscribe him and the Clydesdale with an air of foreboding. Needing to remove himself from the vineyard, he gave Goliath a firmer tap of the heels to urge the horse onward at a quicker pace.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before horse and rider broke free from the spooky and intimidating trellis walls at a full gallop. Using the halter-rein, the albino steered the burly horse into the open countryside beyond Olivia's property. For awhile he allowed the horse to race at his pleasure before spotting a lone tree on a small hill in the distance. Directing Goliath towards the tree, relief cleansed him after exiting the vineyard. Out here he was part of a sinfull, guilt-free world.

Ashamed for his behaviour but simultaneously angered by his shame, he knew it was mere human instinct which compelled him to act lustfully upon himself. The lesser of two evils, it was better than actually having intercourse with a hooker, or worse, forcefully with Olivia. He would never rape a woman regardless of his desperation. For their crimes, rapists deserved to be rid of their offending bodily appendages. Self-pleasure was a truly safe outlet for what was raw instinct and he loathed that his mother's religion branded him with disgrace for it.

Here was his escape: this tree rooted on the apex of a hill overlooking the vineyard. Bringing Goliath to a standstill, he slid from the horse's back and tied the halter securely around a low hanging bough. It was then when he noticed a cluster of ripe figs and realised that this place where he came to hide his indignities was a fig tree.

_Mon dieu! Just my luck_, he thought rancorously. _What are the chances of_ that?

Stretching out on the ground beneath the tree, he propped his back against the gnarled trunk and sighed disgustedly. A _fig_ tree. If that coincidence didn't seem odd he wasn't sure what did. A few pros outweighed the cons. This was what he found and it was in a good spot: secluded and overseeing the vineyard and the house he wanted to temporarily leave behind for some peace. It would have to do.

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He dreamt that he was a shepherd in this very countryside for a reason he was unaware of. He was lost in and camouflaged by the mass of equally white wool as his flock clustered about him in a writhing crowd, grazing and pointlessly wandering when a sudden terrified bleating got his attention. The perturbed flock milled about in mass hysteria that he stumbled through in search of the lost member, tripping over a few of the animals in his haste. The screaming lamb quieted as suddenly as it started and he knew this was not a good sign.

Lurching into a clearing, he stopped short with a dropped jaw upon locating the whereabouts of his lost lamb. First he thought his eyes were deceiving him for it was an impossibility to see what he was seeing. It was probable that it was a refugee from a nearby zoo but certainly not a pet due to its vast size. How a monstrous anaconda found its way into the countryside of southern France rendered him dumbstruck but there it was, its thick, gleaming coils constricting around the little lamb. The lamb's eyes bulged vulgarly, its muzzle tinted blue as circulation was crushed from its fragile body by the ruthless reptile. To the albino's horror, the serpent unhinged its jaws and began devouring its twitching prey despite the mammal's clinging to life and gasping for breath.

The albino awakened with his own horrified gasp only to be met with bright morning light. Squinting and disoriented, he gathered his bearings and looked around, remembering that he was beneath the fig tree, Goliath standing sentinel nearby. Without a watch, he was unsure of the time but he knew he needed to get back to the house before Olivia came to his door.

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Olivia stood outside the albino's bedroom, knocking and calling to him. There was no response from inside. She knocked harder, called louder then listened intently for movement inside. There was nothing. Not a rustle, not a scuffle, not an early morning groan. Nothing.

A dilemma opposed her. Should she intrude on his privacy and enter the room? What if she walked in on something not meant for her eyes? _That_ wouldn't necessarily be a _bad_ thing, she knew, remembering the time she spied on him while he showered. On the other hand, what if something was wrong? What if he was hurt or something happened to him and he needed help? My god, he could be bleeding or dying…

Panic washed over her. Taking a gamble, she cracked open the door to peek inside, softly calling his name. There was no response. Further opening the door, Olivia stepped inside, calling for him as all the while her eyes roved the room, discovering it to be vacant. At that moment, her heart seemed to stop and time froze. His bed hadn't been slept in and his shirt from the day before lay on the floor beside his now broken-in new boots.

_Oh my god! He _left_ me! He _finally_ left me!_

Olivia took inventory of the possible offences that may have made the albino believe that he needed to flee. Was it something she said or did? Was it something _Étienne_ said or did? Maybe _no-one_ said or did anything. Maybe he felt too threatened by Étienne and left secretly beneath night's cover when he knew he would meet no opposition. Were his insecurities _that_ deep?

She extended pity for him in that he couldn't see how special he truly was, that he would resort to doing something as drastic as leave behind a home, a job and her without consultation or warning? Absolutely, the quiet, reserved albino was a man of actions rather than words.

_I _still_ can't believe he _abandoned_ me like that!_

Marching to his wardrobe, she did not see what she feared: rather than an empty cabinet, every stitch of clothing he owned still neatly hung in their place. Why would he leave but not take his possessions? Then her frantic eyes saw the open window and a new conclusion struck her.

What if someone entered the room from outside and committed some foul deed to him? It was plausible, with the town folks' reaction toward him with petty and outdated superstitions. One of them could've easily traced him to the vineyard and caused him harm in some way. She wouldn't put it passed them to achieve such a heinous act. Maniacal with fear for his safety, she searched the room for traces of blood or struggle but found none. Everything was as pristine as it always was.

The thought of a kidnap refused to leave her in peace. If someone from the town _did_ enter the room, it was doubtfull that the albino left with them willingly. There would've been a struggle; a struggle she would've heard and been awakened by. The only other logical explanation was the one that he parted ways. Her heart was crushed at the thought.

_He deserted me! He left me behind without saying good-bye! He abandoned me!_

The notion of a note, whether for ransom or departure, crossed her mind at that moment. Perhaps if he left, then he jotted down a quick note to give words to his final leave-taking. She just refused to believe that he would abandon her without doing that much. Her eyes roamed the room once more, this time for a note. But she found none.

Stunned with disbelief, she sat at the foot of his bed and placed her head in her hands, thinking as she fought back tears of helplessness. What was she going to do? She cared about that man more than she wanted to admit, more than he would allow her to admit, and it frustrated her to no end. Tears trickled from her eyes and before long she heard herself inadvertently issue a soft sob.

"Olivia?"

The voice addressing her was not that of the missing albino but of her friend. She discreetly wiped away her tears and offered Laroux a smile.

"What's wrong, Dauphine?"

She gave a slight laugh, unsure of how to answer, unsure of whether or not she _wanted_ to answer.

"He's gone, Étienne," she managed to tell.

"Who?" She didn't respond. "Who's gone?"

She told him but he appeared unworried.

"Maybe he went out into the vineyard, Olivia."

"With his clothes still here? Look. His boots. Certainly he would've taken _that_ much with him."

"He's a reclusive fellow, my sweet. It is possible he just went out last night and forgot the time. Or maybe he woke up early and started his work. It could be that he just had insomnia and couldn't stand to be confined to his room."

"It isn't like him…"

She grew silent as she looked at the wall and Laroux looked at her, puzzled.

"What is it?" her friend asked.

"There was a crucifix on that wall. Where is it?"

"Didn't you say he loathes religion?"

"Yes, but… Étienne, this doesn't make _sense_! I _know_ him well enough to be confident that he wouldn't leave in this manner."

Silence befell the friends and Olivia knew her dear pal was trying to comfort her but had no clue as to how to accomplish it. Perhaps there was no solace for her on this occasion. Perhaps her grief was irreparable this time.

"I don't know what to tell you, Dauphine," Laroux softly added. "I believe him to be an unpredictable sort. He comes and goes between moods and appears rather impetuous. I'm not saying that is necessarily a _bad_ thing…except in _this_ case, it is."

"I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, Étienne, but you aren't." Her voice was a squeak that was choked back and she grimaced at how it sounded. "Please be silent for now. I must collect my thoughts. At the very least I needed him to help in the vineyard."

"You have _me_ at your disposal, Olivia, and if you need them, I can round up others in the village that need work."

Mention of the villagers made her blood curdle. She was sure that _they_ were behind the disappearance of her beloved.

"Olivia?"

It was a soft tone of voice familiar to her and it came from somewhere out in the hallway behind Laroux. Her pained heart revived anew when she saw the ivory giant step passed her friend and into what was his room. He was a dishevelled sight to behold: shirtless and barefoot, his jeans streaked with dirt and his pale flesh glistened from either sweat or morning dew. Her eyes widened with joy and relief when they rested upon him. Giving a festive cry, she leapt from the bed, raced over to him and threw her arms around him. Holding him tight, she wept against his bare neck.

"Where have you been?" she wept. "I was worried that something bad happened to you!"

"What would make you believe something bad happened to me?" he asked, confused by her reactions. His hands hovered over her, undecided as to where to put them.

"You weren't in your room but all of your things were still here," she justified. "I couldn't find a note and the window was open…your bed hadn't been slept in…oh, thank god you're all right!"

"I am fine, Olivia," he asserted. "Do not worry."

"Where _were_ you?"

"I could not sleep last night so I took Goliath out for a ride. I found this tree and we stopped there for a rest, only I fell asleep. I did not intend to frighten you. I am sorry, Olivia."

"Don't _ever_ do that again! Don't leave without writing a note…"

"I do not plan to leave, Olivia."

She felt his hands at last clamp upon her shoulder, and she trembled from the great strength they possessed. Olivia withdrew from him, a bit ashamed when she not only saw the tears she left to tumble down his neck but the way her abrogated friend Laroux stared at her. She flashed Laroux a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Étienne," she amended. "I didn't think you were still…"

"It's fine, Olivia," insisted Laroux, returning a fake smile that suggested unease. "I will meet you in the kitchen and give you two a private moment."

Olivia nodded, both embarrassed for her behaviour and respite that the albino did not abandon her after all. Reaching up, she tentatively wiped her tears from his neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Do not be," the albino muttered softly in return. "There is no need."

"Do me a favour. Next time write a quick note if only to inform me where you are so I won't worry. And at least leave fully dressed or you will catch a cold."

He entered the room, walked over to his shirt which was cast off before his night excursion and hastily put it on.

"I assure you, Olivia, that is untrue. I have slept out on the open streets for the majority of my life, and there were times when I did not have enough clothing to be fully dressed, even on cold nights. I managed to never get sick from the ordeal."

She smiled with pride at his resilience.

"You really _are_ a remarkable person," she sighed. "You are definitely far stronger than I am."

"You would be strong too if called upon to be."

"I don't know. I suppose it depends on the circumstances. But let's not stand here and discuss depressing aspects of life. Now that you are safe and soundly home, let's have some breakfast, shall we?'

He agreed to her condition and walked with her, hand in hand, out to the kitchen.

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When they found their way into the kitchen, the albino was keenly aware of how Laroux, reading the daily paper and already munching on an apple which was unquestionably not the only one he would consume that day, enviously frowned at the pair as if they were a portrait of utmost vulgarity. Certainly Olivia could not continually be unmindfull to this. Sooner or later the good buddy Étienne Laroux would lose his grace with fair Olivia.

The two men placed themselves at the table in the nook and waited while she made a quick breakfast of sliced melons and buttered brown toast for them. The silence was as thick as a fog between the males in the nook but when Olivia added her presence for breakfast the fog grew murkier. Beneath the table, he felt his hand touched by hers and she clasped them together, interlacing their fingers. This last bit made his hands sweat with fearfull expectation that embarrassed and betrayed him.

She slid closer to his side, while his muscles tightened from the proximity and his eyes shifted warily to Laroux. The saccade of the man's brilliant green-speckled hazel eyes ceased momentarily to rise from the paper he was reading and to the abomination of a couple before him.

_I know I do not deserve her, Laroux!_ he fustigated. _I cannot explain her kind motivations toward me. I am positive you should be receiving this treatment from her rather than me. What could I offer her outside of strife and heartache? She would be better off with _you

The meal finished within the half hour and the albino excused himself from the table in order to shower and change into fresh clothing. On his way out of the room, he heard the sound of a chair being drawn back then Laroux speak inaudibly to Olivia in his absence. He restrained the instinct to glance back over his shoulder to return Laroux's insolence with a warning glare.

He knew Laroux was saying something derogatory to Olivia about him behind his back. The handsome snake-in-the-grass of a man! If Laroux wasn't speaking ill of the albino, then why would he wait untill he left the room to start talking to her? It killed him that he didn't know what was being said.

_Perversity of nature!_ his father roared. _She's better off without you! Worthless, transparent ghost! They see right through you!_

He willed his shrieking father's words to be quiet as he tramped into his room, unintentionally slamming the door in his wake. He flinched at the resounding echo it made and hoped that nobody got the wrong impression. Or _was_ it the wrong impression? Shrugging off the prospect, he gathered fresh clothing and went to shower.

Later in the vineyard, Olivia delegated the work so that she and Laroux were the ones working in the roasting sun while he was kept to the shade. The albino felt slightly insulted by this caring but condescending gesture. He realised that Olivia was protecting him from serious injury yet he couldn't help but to glare acquisitively at the bare, tanned flesh of Laroux as it was accentuated by the strong rays of sun.

As the day progressed, the albino continually fought the desire to stare covetously at his romantic competition despite the feeling he had that scrutinising eyes were closely watching _him_. A few times when those feelings of being watched became unbearable he caught _Laroux_ staring at _him_. However, these looks did not possess the curiosity or camaraderie they emoted after the initial shock of their first encounter. Instead those hazel eyes were scornfull and distrusting, as if the man caught him committing some unforgivable crime. Olivia, of course, did not seem to notice but went on working in the obscurity of the vines and trellises with perfect faith that the men were getting along.

But something peculiar occurred after Olivia announced that she was going to prepare sandwiches for their midday meal. Laroux, who began eating yet another confounded apple from the ruck sack he brought along with him into the vineyard, approached him.

That thing must've been filled to the brim with apples, the albino imagined.

"I couldn't help but notice how Olivia reacted to your reappearance," Laroux acknowledged. "She was more jubilant than I've ever seen her."

The albino gave a faint smile, a queasy feeling churning his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Really?" he retorted. "You would know better than I. You are the one who has known her since childhood."

"Yes, I have. I know Olivia very well. Well enough to tell you that she's a sweetheart of a girl."

"I already know that from my own experiences."

"What experiences are those, might I inquire?"

The misgivings exerted by Laroux were as blatant as Ra's disc beating down from above. The albino felt like the little lamb he dreamt of, helpless and being swallowed by a demonic serpent. He fidgeted uncomfortably and looked beyond Laroux's shoulder in search of Olivia for reprieve. She was nowhere to be found.

"As I mentioned when you and I first met: her generous hospitality is unprecedented. No-one else has ever treated me in such a manner before and it is highly improbable that they ever will again."

"How did your parents react to your…state?"

"My state?"

He knew what was being asked, he just didn't want to deal with it. It was none of Laroux's business, particularly since the albino's intuition screamed warnings at him.

"You know," provoked Laroux. "Your…whiteness."

"I suffer from albinism."

"Suffer? So you believe it to be a disease?"

"More often than not, I am afraid. But Olivia is helping me to overcome that."

"She is, is she?"

The albino nodded, resorting to his habit of wishing himself transparent.

_Ghost! Hellion!_

He wished his father would quit reminding him, especially when he constantly reminded himself.

"I don't need to tell you that Olivia is more fragile than she leads you to believe, I'm sure," Laroux euchred. "So no doubt it would be a terrible idea if you decide to impose yourself on her in a way other than friendship."

The albino was wary and selected his words carefully. "But we _are_ only friends."

"As you _should_ be and it needs to stay that way. Come on, my friend. You know yourself that a love affair between you both would only lead to heartache for her. She doesn't deserve to get hurt, not after all the wonderfull things she's done for you. How ungratefull would you seem if you hurt her?"

"I do not intend to harm Olivia in any way. You have nothing to fear."

"Good. I hope you are a man of your word. I believe you are. Listen, don't be hard on yourself. You may not be the right one for Olivia but who is? She's too good for us all. Including me. But I know the frustrations a young man can have being around a woman he wants but can't have. That was why God gave us _working_ ladies."

The albino furrowed his brow. Did he hear correctly?

"You mean prostitutes?"

"Don't look down on them as if they are vile and disgusting. They are still women and very willing ones. There doesn't have to be any strings attached; they simply provide us with a service. Even for an odd gentleman such as yourself. I know a _special_ lady who would take _very_ good care of you."

"I do not believe that to be appropriate," the albino stated coolly without judgement. "I am trying to walk the straight and narrow, to improve my life. Illegal activity will get me into the trouble I am attempting to escape."

"Come now, my friend. You know you'll never be good enough for Olivia. But this woman is indiscriminate. She will even pretend to be Olivia if you ask her nicely. She is quite beautifull herself. Here."

He watched cagily as Laroux again went into his ruck sack and amid what seemed to be a score of apples he removed an envelope folded in half. This he handed to the albino in the manner likened to a spy passing information to a cohort.

"What is this?"

"It's her name, address and, because I know you don't have money for yourself yet, I enclosed her fee plus a little extra. Buy her a lovely bouquet or a box of chocolates or something."

"Why are you doing this?"

Laroux shrugged. "Consider it one friend helping another."

He was about to respond; he wasn't sure exactly how but he never got the chance as Olivia reappeared, calling them in for their break. Saying nothing, he followed Laroux and his beloved with a heavy heart.

**Author's Note:** Another enormous thank-you to my readers and reviewers, all of whom I am deeply ingratiated. I apologise for the lengthy wait you've endured for this chapter. Real life has reached its hectic busy season for me but I will do my best to update as often as possible. As always, I commend as well as implore you for your patience with it. Also, due to the many time constraints that pesky thing called Real Life has placed on me, I'm afraid that you will need to wait a while longer for the anticipated X-rated version. It is definitely forthcoming, as I did make the promise, but it could be quite some time yet. I hope you forgive me and continue enjoying my tamer version.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

His mother's screaming would not give him peace. He restlessly tossed in bed, untucking the sheets and throwing them every which way. Sweat coated his body as he relived in his dreams another horrific childhood memory. His father, lost in his customary inebriation, began beating his mother because she didn't have the money to spare in supply of his alcohol. He had her pinned down and was hitting her face with closed fists as the terrified boy of six cowered and watched from beneath a table. He knew he had to do _something_ to protect his mommy. But what could he do? The monster was too big for him to pull off of her.

He needed to take a chance because he knew that when he showed himself then the abuse his mother was receiving would stop and he would be the new target. Mommy would save him if he could save her. He knew she would, for she was his entire world and he had perfect trust and faith in her. Darting from beneath the table, he ran towards his parents and, acting on pure instinct, issued a hard kick to his father's kidney area. At first, the brute stopped moving altogether but due to his heavy intoxication he felt only the thud of the little foot as it met his backside. Even in his hazy awareness he knew what happened. Roaring in anger, he whirled around to find his son standing in a defensive stance and prepared for battle.

"_You little hellion!_" his father howled with earth-shaking rage. "_Little freak!_ _Don't you_ ever _touch me!_"

His father rose from off his mother's sprawling body and there was a brief instant he hesitated in to settle his equilibrium but the little boy stood his ground. The beastly patriarch was who the albino got his future enormous stature from so when the parent stood he loomed over his son like a truculent Titan. Like a Father-Monster. Nevertheless, the little albino child still held his ground with true fire in his red eyes.

"Come here, you worthless little ghost!"

He swiped his arm out but the boy jumped swiftly back, still refusing to give an inch. Father-Monster roared and lunged at the child again, this time catching him by the upper arm, yanking him up so that he was suspended in midair. He cried and kicked but Father-Monster was strong, able to hold him out far so his legs did not find purchase. There was a sickening pop and the child howled with pain as his shoulder separated from its socket.

"You want to fight like a man, little ghost?" Father-Monster bellered. "Come on! Hit me! Hit me, you fucking demon!"

The boy thrashed his body to free himself or to again kick his antagonist despite the searing pain of his dislocated shoulder. In the distance his mother was calling out to Father-Monster, sobbing and pleading for him to leave her baby alone to no avail. Weakened by the attack, she was reduced to doing nothing more than beg and lay useless upon the floor while her son was manhandled.

Father-Monster dragged him outside the apartment, out into the hallway and towards the stairwell. Neighbours gawked with morbid wonder at the pair but did nothing to aid the vulnerable child who was callously shoved down the flight of stairs. A painfull white light appeared before his eyes then was followed by a dull ache in the back of his skull from where his head made contact with the stairs and, subsequently, the wall, making him temporarily lose his sight. Dazed and shocked by what had just happened to him, he blankly looked around his hallway as if it was a strange place he'd never been to before, at the neighbours who no more inquired about his welfare than they lent a helping hand.

In trying to rise from the floor, from the bottom of the staircase, his knees buckled, his leg hurting so badly he thought it broken. At first he managed to stabilise himself and he thought everything was fine. Then he collided with the floor a second time when his legs finally gave out from beneath him. As the spectators decided that he was fine and not worth any more of their precious time they dwindled away, leaving him to curl up and softly weep, trying to not give them the satisfaction of entertainment via his misfortune. In the distance he heard his parents at it again, his mother imploring for his retrieval and his father screaming obscenities at her.

Hours later after he calmed down and was able to stand, he crept back up the stairs one step at a time then hobbled lamely towards his door. But when he turned the knob and tried to open it, he found it locked. There was quiet now and he wondered if his mother was all right. He knocked on the door and called to her but still nothing stirred within.

He tried the knob once more before accepting that he was locked out and instead continued to call and cry for his mother. But it was no use. The little boy spent the rest of the night, shivering and crying softly, alone in the cold hall. Hours later when morning came he was awakened by the sound of the door beside him creaking open. His heart soared.

It was _mommy_!

In tears, he hurriedly stood and threw himself at her, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she lifted him into her bruised ones, shushing him.

"Don't wake up your father!" she urgently whispered. "Be very, _very_ quiet!"

He nodded and obeyed, pressing his tear stained face against her neck upon which he noticed were imprints from his father's strangling hands. As she brought him back into the apartment he saw the drunken Father-Monster unconscious and snoring in a chair. Hate never more intense seethed inside him. His mother diligently carried him into the bedroom where she locked and barricaded the door for their protection then relocated his shoulder as he bit down on a leather strap to mute his screams.

The albino continued to turn in his dreamstate and, in acting out his kicking motions, stubbed his big toe hard against the bed post, invariably jolting him from sleep. Disoriented when he sat up, he initially believed that he was again six-years-old and back in his mother's bedroom with his fiendish father lurking outside, waiting to attack. His breathing erratic, he gulped fresh air through his mouth, holding his chest in terror of the memory. Why couldn't he dream of something pleasant for once? Like riding Goliath on the beach or making love to Olivia? It seemed that he only managed to have freakish dreams of distant memories or of serpents wrapped around lambs. One night's peace was all he wanted! After taking inventory of his surroundings, he was satisfied that everything was copacetic and allowed himself to relax.

An irksome tingle in his groin hinted that he needed to relieve his bladder and he groaned in aggravation of himself. He did not want to leave his cosy, warm bed! If he left he might be unable to get comfortable again. However, he knew the sensation would worsen untill he did something about it. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering with exposure when his bare feet made contact with the cold wooden floor. For fear that Olivia would find him wandering her house nude, he put his jeans on and exited the room.

Upon reaching the wash room, he made a quick chore out of urinating and was half way finished when he heard a soft whimper drifting from another room up the hall. Olivia was the only other person in the house. Was something the matter?

Tucking himself in, he flushed the toilet and cautiously wandered down the hall to check on her welfare. The door was slightly ajar and he stopped outside, afraid of seeing something he did not want to see. On closer study he realised that the whimpers were gentle moans as if she were in the throes of passion.

_I should not look!_ he considered. _I cannot violate her privacy!_

It immediately occurred to him that maybe Laroux was in there, pleasuring her the way he longed to pleasure her and he did not know how he would respond to such a scenario. Already he felt like bursting in the door to interrupt and strangle the life out of the man who suggested he go to a whore because he wasn't good enough for the woman they both obviously wanted.

Not calling out to her in case something was awry, he peeked through the crack left open. To his relief he found her alone in bed but she was squirming. These were not the movements of pain or fear like his had been. Like he initially thought, they were gestures of passion and he smiled, thinking she was pleasuring herself. He dared to slip inside the room, wondering if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. He stealthily eased towards the bed like a panther on the prowl, eyes focused intently on her. It was obvious that she was asleep and he released the uneasy breath he'd been holding. She was having an erotic dream, he thought jovially.

His happiness withered and died just as quickly when he wondered who the dream was about. It couldn't be _him_. It was unfair; _he_ was the one next to her. He contemplated taking her into his arms, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh…A passionate heat made him boil and he stepped back, indecisive. Exhibiting great continence with wonder if Laroux would be equally respectfull, he backed out of her room then softly shut the door behind him.

He considered taking another pilgrimage to the fig tree in order to satisfy his excessively unwholesome sentiments but doing so the night before deprived him of proper rest and he had plodded through the day in a perfunctory fashion. Despite the kinetic strength and vitality youth afforded him, he knew that he could not continue to sacrifice sleep for frequent trips to the fig tree. The human body could handle only so much before it broke down and sleep was a precious gift he needed to restore his clear thinking and optimal strength.

Approaching the circumstance with good sense, he fell back upon his bed, keeping his jeans on for fear that their removal would give way to unyielding temptation. He closed his eyes but it took him hours to finally fall asleep.

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The last two days of the work week ebbed by at a tortoise pace. He noticed with increasing contempt that Laroux seemed to enclose Olivia with a territorial embrace that made the albino's heart grow sour. He observed the chemistry between the old friends and for the first time since his arrival he felt alienated without hope of Olivia's reprieve. He felt like he was on the outside looking in and Laroux seemed to go out of his way to demonstrate that to him by exclusion.

He carried the slip of paper with the prostitute's name and address inside the left front pocket of his jeans because he feared that Olivia would erroneously discover it or, worse, Laroux would tell her that it was in his possession. During breaks he removed the scrap from his pocket to furtively stare at it in his large, concealling hand beneath the table, primarily as a distraction from Laroux's teasing and Olivia's laughter. He didn't want to grant Laroux the satisfaction of being watched or to so much as look at them. It was unbearable to see, not to mention it made him seethe in warranted anger. At one point he clenched his fist so tightly that he briefly expected to find the scrap torn in some places.

_She used to laugh like that for me!_

His eyes rolled upwards to find Laroux muttering something into the giggling Olivia's ear. He noticed the intimate proximity Laroux kept to her and how he had an arm around the back of her chair in a taunting "she's mine" gesture. The albino fixed his attention back to the paper, concentrating so hard on the concise script that it became an obsession. Olivia kept passing him intrigued glances after noticing this odd behaviour.

Then without warning she rose from the table and gathered their plates to take into the house, giving Laroux the opportunity to set his sights on the albino.

"So?"

The albino peered up at the speaker.

"So what?" he responded.

"So are you going to continue staring at her name and address or are you going to be a man and pay her a visit?"

"I do not wish to be with your whore."

"If you didn't, then why are you babying her name as if it was a priceless jewel?"

Laroux sat back and watched the albino squirm, taking tremendous pleasure in doing so. He tried to make his preoccupation unnoticeable and the fact that Laroux was aware of it made him uncomfortable.

"Olivia is a delicate rose, fantôme," chivvied Laroux. "She is fragile even though she pretends not to be."

"She is strong enough."

"She is, but imagine how much stronger she could be if she had the right man. Someone who would lift her up rather than tear her down. She needs to be showered with affection like a rose in sunshine so that she can grow."

In a small voice, the albino replied: "_I_ can shower her with affection."

Laroux smirked and gave a mocking smile that further infuriated the albino.

"I've known Olivia for most of her life. Long and well enough to know that you are not her type. What could you possibly offer her in your state? She doesn't deserve to lead the cautious, isolated life that being with you would force her into. She needs a _man, _not afantôme to act as her sun: to coax her petals open to be fertilised."

Disgusted at the obvious innuendo, the albino could not retort because Olivia returned. As Laroux stood and talked to her in distraction, the albino prudently inserted the prostitute's address back into his pocket. There was a loud crunching sound as Laroux bit into a crisp red apple and the albino shook his head, disgusted. He was beginning to hate the fruit.

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That night he and Olivia ate supper in another uncomfortable silence and she could not understand why. Everything seemed to be fine and everyone got along well enough but yet her special houseguest appeared so despondent and far away tonight. He wouldn't even look at her despite her many futile attempts to get him to. She coughed a bit, scuffed her chair and feet, and clinked her fork against her plate. The last one got him to roll his eyes up at her and believing this was progress, she continued.

_Clink! Clink! Clink!_

Flatware against porcelain.

_Clink! Clink! Clink!_

She gawked at him unabashedly and thought of his skin when she thought of porcelain. How quaint that he seemed to be made of porcelain and yet was sturdy rather than fragile.

_Clink! Clink! Clink!_

She knew the sound bothered him but continued making it just to get the reaction out of him. A subtle annoyance was better than nothing at all, she surmised. Woman's intuition suspected that something deeper than the clinking sound was beneath his skin and he was keeping it from her. He didn't want her to know and that hurt her. Then out of the blue:

"Are you and Étienne getting along well enough?"

Her voice startled him and she felt a spark of triumph.

_Serves you right for trying to hide something from me!_

"I believe so," he retorted. "I do not have a problem with him."

His nostrils slightly flared when he said this to her, an direct indication that he wasn't being truthfull.

"Hmm," she simply replied, watching as he looked back down at his plate where he toyed with his food.

"Something the matter?" she asked unfalteringly.

"No," she knew he lied. "Nothing at all. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged.

"Seems like there is. You're exceptionally quiet today. We always discuss _something_ at supper time but tonight…it's like a crypt in here in silence and impersonal coldness, don't you think?"

He shrugged and continued to push the peas around on his plate with the fork.

"Sometimes silence is good," he offered.

"I don't mean to bother you, I just worry about you."

This earned his attention.

"I do not intend to sound like an ingrate, Olivia, but why do you waste time worrying about me? I am a grown man, fully capable of taking care of myself."

"I realise that, but…"

"I have taken care of myself for a very long time. I can assure you I will be fine."

She noticed the stern way he was speaking and got somewhat offended.

"I wouldn't consider worrying about you a waste of time," she defended. "Everyone needs help some time in their lives and when I found you, you needed help. Is my giving it to you suddenly criminal?"

"No," he answered between clenched teeth. "But I do not ask for charity."

"It wasn't charity, you pompous ass. I told you I needed help in the vineyard and you needed a job so it was a win-win situation for us both. We've been through this before, why are you mentioning it again? And why are you _angry_ with me about it?"

He paused and furrowed his brow, deep in thought over his actions and her words. There seemed to be an internal struggle he was engaged in and she waited, half expecting him to explain himself but, like usual, he was the cryptic quintessence of self-restraint.

"I am sorry, Olivia," he muttered, his voice soft but restrained. "It is not _you_ I am angry with."

"No? Who is it, then?"

"For the most part? Myself." He sighed, trying to think of something else to say. Coming up with nothing more, he added: "I think I will retire to bed early tonight. Please excuse me."

She watched speechlessly as he left her alone with her unappreciated worry.

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For the remnant of the evening, he stayed in the sanctuary of his own room, away from Olivia's prying questions and doe-eyed gaze and out of sight from the judgemental crucifix he'd taken off the wall. Here he meant to continue reading _Moby Dick_, something he'd been neglecting for the past few days, but instead found himself again staring at the slip of paper.

Her name was Lisette. No surname was attached, just the first name and the address.

It was terrible of him, he knew, but he could not help but wonder what she looked like. Didn't Laroux say she was similar to Olivia in looks? Of course his love starved mind imagined her as an identical twin to his heart's desire, even if she was not. He felt shame for putting such a ridiculous criteria on a woamn he hadn't met. It was unfair to make comparisons. Lisette could be a good woman in her own right and he had no right to expect her to be somebody else for him. But being a whore, wasn't that her game any way?

Feeling himself drifting asleep, he placed the book on the night stand then turned off the lamp burning there. But the scrap of paper which held the alluring promise of dubious morality remained in the large palm of his chalk-coloured hand even after he fell asleep.

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He woke up early the next morning. It was Sunday and he knew Olivia would be sleeping a little later than usual and he wanted to be out of the house before she awakened. Quickly and sneakily he showered then dressed in fresh clothes – a customary pair of jeans and a white shirt because black would accentuate his paleness more than he cared for – and rushed out the door, grabbing, of all things, an apple from the table for breakfast on the way out.

When he stepped outside, he relished in the coolness of the morning, noticing that there was dew on the grass. He liked morning. Mornings held a scent of freshness that was lost when the day progressed. He stretched his lithe body and breathed deeply. Then he began his walk toward the direction of town, Lisette's address tucked away clandestinely inside his pocket.

He no longer needed to look at the paper. By constant review of it, he memorised the address and repeated it in his mind, weighing his options. He considered those moral barriers heavily during his hour walk into town. Should he? Shouldn't he? The pendulum of reason swung both ways and by the time he reached the outskirts of town he was no better off for all of his thoughts on the subject. He stopped upon the knoll and surveyed the village, still for the most part but with scattered people strolling about, and tried to decide what he should do.

He wanted to go but was hesitant in action. The incident that occurred when he was escorted by Olivia menaced him. It was possible that Olivia was the reason the villagers stayed their hands from harming him but in her absence what would they do to him? Would they be bold enough to attack him? Hurdle stones at him? He imagined the words they would say, certainly words he'd been plagued with before but since he wanted to make a life here with Olivia in the vineyard he preposterously hoped that the villagers would accept him.

_No one accepts such a perversion of nature!_ his father's voice raged in his mind. _Abominations are unwelcome no matter where they go, except in Hell where they belong!_

This time hearing echoes of his father's cruel imprecations inspired him to defy rather than adhere to them. He wanted to walk down to the village on his own, he wanted to stroll rebelliously through the streets among the villagers. He had the right to do so like any one else had. Taking a deep breath, he began to make his way down the hill.

During the short walk, he filled his mind with pleasant thoughts: the lush grass of the vineyard, riding Goliath bareback in the moonlight, solitude beneath the fig tree, Olivia in the sunshine, Olivia sampling the grapes from the vine, Olivia smiling at him, Olivia giving him a peck on the lips, Olivia in bed writhing and moaning…

He ended his train of thoughts with that scenario. It caused him to feel too warm and tingly to his current liking.

Worse, now in town, those up and about already flashed him looks of disdainfull warning. They made it clear with these stares that he was not welcome. He tried to hold his head high with dignity but even when he did he dropped his eyes to not challenge them. He did not want trouble, he just wanted to go about his business and do so in peace.

His strides were long and purposefull despite the fact that he had no clue where he was going. Down the main street, or what he reckoned was the main street, and through the opening market where an old woman hissed at him like a cat, startling him. When he inadvertently made eye contact with her she made an odd gesture toward him as if to remove the hex of his presence. Feeling a bit angry by her motion, he longed to say something rude to her or at least to stop and glare at her to frighten her but instead of taking the risk, he continued onward.

_I will _not_ let you ruin my day!_ he thought determinedly.

Everywhere he walked he was met with the same scorn and alarm as he was greeted with the last time yet he thanked Olivia's God that none of them had the audacity to convert their petty attacks to physical violence. He touched his index finger to the bump in the pocket of his jeans caused by the cursed paper.

_Lisette…Lisette…_

He again wondered what she was like, how she looked, if she was a nice person, and most important of all, if she would discriminate against him if she saw his condition. Laroux stated that she resembled Olivia well enough to be able to pretend to be her if asked. Was this true? If he couldn't have Olivia then would he be able to have the next best thing in a double? The implications were amoral yet as wrong as it was, it was also very tempting.

He wasn't sure if he could do that to Olivia even on an indirect basis. She was his everything, his raison d'être for existence. He wanted _her_. He loved _her_. Not a cheap imitation. But then:

_He who wants what he cannot have acquires nothing in the end._

He stopped walking, reached into his pocket, removed the scrap and unfolded it. Laroux's writing was neat, clear as if purposefull in its intent. The albino was most certain that it was.

Glancing up, he spotted an old man walking in his direction. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the man to get near enough to stop him. Pretending to not notice the grimace of horror on the old man's face, he asked softly:

"Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but could you please direct me to this address?"

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to my loyal readers who were patient enough to wait for this new instalment. That patience was greatly appreciated. Real life grows extremely hectic for me at the end of each year and still shows no sign of slowing so it will be a while again before Chapter 8 is posted. I undertake far too many projects simultaneously! If anyone is reading _Once a Wolf_, the revised chapters and the new chapter will be up next, hopefully very soon. Till next time, love ya all loads!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The walk to the house did not bother him like the walk into town had. Gone were the noxious glares of the villagers as with each step he vanished deeper into preoccupied thoughts of the moral decay that this trip was meant to bring him to. By the time he reached the house and stood outside the rickety fence staring in disbelief at the number on its front he had succeeded in becoming the ghost that his father always blamed him for being. Everyone saw him and reacted accordingly but he simply was no longer there. He was an entity drifting from one life in the vineyard with Olivia to another with Lisette in this house and this little fence was the great dividing factor. It could be the pearly gates of Heaven or the wrought iron ones of Hell.

The house was a decent place to dwell, he construed, but removed from the thriving luxury of the house at the vineyard. The house itself was old with peelling shutters and a door with a tarnished brass knocker but it owned an air of lived-in comfort that he decided was likable. The front window was opened and the lacey curtains flapped like welcoming flags in the gentle breeze. He tried his best to peek inside from where he stood but couldn't see anything.

A man walking behind him muttered a casual cruelty beneath his breath as he passed but the albino minded not. His mind was inattentive and elsewhere, that elsewhere being inside the house he stood before. Placing his hand against the gate he pushed down so that the fleur-de-lis pattern imprinted itself in his palm, leaning slightly over in his effort to decide. For crying out loud, he was already there; he should just be a man and get it over with. If he truly had no intention of following through with this, he wouldn't have made it this far. Right?

Something caught the corner of his eye. A movement in the window. Perhaps a rustle of the curtains but perhaps it was someone inside discreetly peeking back at him. A lump formed in his throat. Walking beyond this gate would be very significant. As long as he was on this side of the gate he was safe from Laroux's corruption. Once he went beyond he would lose the small amount of innocence that he managed to keep protectively under lock and key for all of his eighteen years of life.

He thought immediately of Olivia and the unusual kindness she gave him. If she was physically ugly he knew he would still be attracted to her for that reason alone. As fortune would have it, she was lovely in his eyes and that was all that mattered. But was he so needy and desperate for affection that he would mistake the least act of kindness to be love? Sighing, he turned his back and took a few steps away from the house.

"Bonjour?" a perky, feminine voice addressed, bringing him to a cold halt. "Excusez-moi, monsieur! Est-ce que je peux vous aider?"

His throat still tight, he shook his head, not looking at the woman out of silly fear. He knew he had no right to be there and he did not want to be punished for a half-committed crime.

"Non, mademoiselle," he uttered quietly, passively. "I am lost and I thought I found the correct house but I was wrong."

"What is the address you are looking for?"

He froze, not expecting this type of response.

"Ah, I - I do not know," he feinted. "That is the problem. But I do believe I have just found my way back home."

"Home is a wonderfull place to be. You should be thankfull that you've found it. Not many of us ever do."

He nodded and was about to continue on his way when her next words stopped him like a heart attack.

"Étienne Laroux sent you, did he not?"

"Laroux?"

"Yes, he is my long-time friend. He tells me _everything_. He said he'd be sending a man to visit me. He also mentioned that this man would be hard to miss. I've lived in this little town my whole life, monsieur, and I have _never_ seen the likes of _you_."

Slowly turning to meet the woman, he gasped in surprise for he had left behind the same vision of comeliness at the vineyard. The woman closely resembled Olivia. The mouth was a little different, fuller in the lips, and she was more round in the face. She had the same hair, the same nose; her body was more voluptuous than Olivia's athletic, lean form. Her breasts were undeniably larger and his eyes lingered there for a few seconds longer than they should have. She could have been Olivia's sexier younger sister. Except for the eyes. There was nothing in the girl's eyes that came close to Olivia's. They were green and smaller…and lacked the pith of his beloved's.

Laroux _did_ tease that Lisette would be a worthy substitute. It seemed that she was indeed, with some physical improvements as deemed by a horny young male's crazed libido.

"I am not by any means saying that seeing you is a bad thing," Lisette excused. "Quite the contrary. Why don't you come inside and we can talk about it? We will get to know each other better."

"I told your friend that I do not wish to be with…" he stopped abruptly. He _couldn't_ refer to her as a whore to her face. "…anyone at this time."

She smiled and it was worth a fortune; and it probably honestly was.

"All I want to do is talk," she coaxed. "Nothing more. After all, what sort of a girl do you think I am?"

He stared at her as if he heard her wrong, not moving except to blink his eyes.

"Come on," she cajoled, stepping toward the gate he previously hesitated at and gesturing for him to follow. "Just for a coffee and conversation. Come on, I promise I don't bite. _If_ you don't _want_ me to."

He watched as she opened the gate and stepped into the garden, turning around to wait for him to join her. The gaze she gave him tugged at every fibre of his flesh and he found that his will was too weak to resist.

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When Olivia woke up she discovered with derision that she was the only one in the house. She knew this not by intentionally spying on her china-white guest but because in passing she noticed that he left his bedroom door open. Initially she thought that he was in the bathroom but when she walked by there, the door was open and the room was equally vacant.

Did he go somewhere again and not tell her? Now curious, she purposefully went to the lounge to see if he had himself holed up there to read. Once in that room, however, she realised that the skies were blue and sunny then reckoned that he must've gone outside to enjoy it. Oh, well. Perhaps he left her a note, as she requested him to do, and it was somewhere in the kitchen. She needed to eat breakfast any way.

Entering the kitchen, she discovered it as empty as the rest of the house which, at this point, not at all astonished her. What troubled her was there was no note left behind. Not tacked up on the cork board or put up on the refrigerator with one of the several magnets on the door. Disappointed, she set to making herself breakfast. She never expected to have her emotions laid so bare before her, acted out by the way she angrily and haphazardly slammed cabinets and utensils during the process of making herself an omelette.

_Stop overreacting!_ she vehemently thought. _You act too much like his mother! It's no wonder that he has no interest in you! No man wants to be intimate with a mother figure! Start acting like girlfriend material and maybe he would think differently of you!_

Releasing her frustration with a lengthy sigh when she sat at the table in the nook to eat, she compensated herself with her beliefs. The Lord would always be there for her and never fail her. He was always there when she needed him, always willing to listen, always there to lean on. _The Lord replied "My precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you." _Time and time again that poem, her favourite, was the inspiration for her to carry on when she knew she was being tested.

The strange albino youngster's entrance into her life was certainly another trial that the Lord was putting her through. Worse, it was one of temptation. Could she resist him and stay chaste for a future husband? Olivia knew very well of the way men destroyed women. That was how she found the Lord in the first place, after all. It was also why she and Étienne were so close. A chill carried throughout her body when she remembered the final night with the last boyfriend she had. If Étienne had not been there…

When her friend was gone and she was safe, she sought refuge in religion. God was the one male figure she trusted, other than her father, of course. The abuse she suffered, the fear and terror, were things she only read about _other_ women enduring. They were women who were battered by their fathers or who witnessed their mothers being abused by the men in their lives. They were women victimised by a vicious cycle that Olivia had never previously been a part of.

Her father was kind and doted on his little girl and his wife. There were no dark secrets or torrid affairs behind her mother's back. There were no reticent beatings, swellings, blacks-and-blues or verbal assaults behind closed doors. Yet somehow daddy's little girl was naïve enough to fall prey to a wolf who smiled at her and called her pretty on the street one day. A wolf she moved in with when she was seventeen, a wolf who forced her into the same brutal pattern that the other women followed in the wake of their mothers.

With bad old memories resurfacing, she decided that she was better off without the albino's affections. He was a young man fresh from the streets whose own background reflected what she was trying to avoid. His father beat him and he bore witness to his mother's murder by his father's hand. This was certain to leave a lasting impression in his mind about how to treat women. Besides, young men's affections are very fickle. He could have feelings for her today but tomorrow he'd be chasing the next pretty face. Remaining unwed and single for the rest of her life was preferable to taking _that_ road again. Étienne would not be around to protect her forever.

"You look lost," her friend's voice broke the silence, startling her.

"Étienne! What are you doing here on a Sunday morning?"

"Does it have to be a certain day or time for a friend to say hello?"

She smiled sweetly, replying, "I suppose not. Would you like something to eat?"

Laroux smiled back, shaking his head.

"I'm fine, Dauphine. I'll just have one of these."

He plucked an apple from the bowl on the table, bit into it and sat across from her. The friends stayed quiet while they ate but Olivia felt him occasionally looking at her. Étienne's eyes were as intense as the albino's were.

"Where is your friend?" Laroux inquired. "He's usually here eating breakfast with you, isn't he?"

"Normally, he is. But I thought maybe he was outside."

Laroux shook his head, saying, "I didn't see him. Maybe he went off to wherever he was that morning you thought he'd left."

"Yeah," she responded, heavy with thought. "Maybe."

"Dauphine, I don't mean to be cruel, but why do you give a damn about him?"

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. "What do you mean?"

"It's like I told you when he disappeared the first time. He's unpredictable and moody. He's eighteen-years-old. It is to be expected of him. But you can't grieve for his behaviour each time he does something you disapprove of him doing."

There was a moment's recess as she thought of what her dear companion was saying.

"Come on, Dauphine, you _know_ I'm right."

"I do, Étienne, I really do. I can't help but to be concerned. He lives here as a guest and that means he is under my care."

"He's very strong, Olivia. He can take care of himself. Proof of it is in that he is alive today. Also, he is a young man. Who knows what adventures and conquests he is on?"

"Conquests?"

Olivia didn't mind the word _adventures_; it was _conquests_ that she didn't like the sound of. The implications were less than laudable.

"He may be a freak with the appearance of a fantôme…"

Olivia shook her head and interrupted: "I don't like you referring to him with such words, Étienne, and I would ask that you please refrain from using them."

"Either way, he is unusual but despite his handicap he isn't a bad looking boy. If he continues to make unexplained disappearances, then maybe he's meeting a lover."

Olivia's brow furrowed and heart wrenched, tears instantly seeping into her eyes.

"No," she differed, shaking her head, her voice sounding distant. "He _can't_ have a lover."

"Why not?" challenged Laroux.

"Because he would've told me."

Laroux laughed, the sound shocking her. Was he making fun of her? She glared at him crossly.

"Why would he tell the pretty woman he lives with, a woman who provides him with a home, a job, food and compassion that he is sleeping with someone else?"

"Because he confides in me as a friend…"

"Maybe he thinks you have feelings for him and he doesn't want to hurt you." Laroux studied her, then he was bold enough to ask: "You _don't_ have feelings for him, _do_ you?"

She shook her head, deep in thought as she rejoined: "No, I….don't…."

"Then why should it matter if he has a lover or not? Or if he continually disappears to meet her? Look, Olivia, maybe he just likes to go off and be alone. Maybe he doesn't have a lover. The only way to know for sure is if you ask."

"I can't ask him that. It's none of my business."

"Would you like me to find out for you, since you are so concerned?"

"No, that's all right, I'm not sure I _want_ to know. I can't invade his privacy. He may live here but I don't have the right to know everything there is to know about him."

"Exactly. So let it go. Let him live his life and you live yours."

She nodded and he sighed.

"I will be outside if you need me," Laroux told her.

He casually left the room with the seed of doubt already planted.

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"Would you like something to eat?" Lisette hospitably asked him as she bustled about arranging things to make room for him to sit.

The great albino shook his head.

"No, thank you. I ate breakfast before I came."

"Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing for him to sit on the couch.

At first he faltered in sitting, wondering if doing so meant giving free rein to the possibility of leading to something more. Taking the risk, he seated himself. To his surprise, Lisette sat beside him which made him squirm.

"Are you nervous?" she inquired upon noticing his trepidation.

"I would be lying if I told you no," he confessed.

"Did Étienne tell you what I do for a living?"

With a lump in his throat, the albino nodded.

"Yes, he did."

"What do you think about it?"

He shrugged.

"Times are tough and life is difficult," he answered. "You do what you must to survive. I know that better than most. We all must eat."

She smiled. "I appreciate your realistic outlook. Most people wish to pass judgement on me without hearing my side of the story. Like they must do to you. That is why Étienne thought we would get along so well and wanted us to meet."

"Are you certain he did not hold ulterior motives for this meeting?"

Lisette seemed baffled by his question. "Whatever do you mean?"

The albino again shook his head.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Impossible! You _can't_ take back what you said. You _must_ have a reason for making such a remark."

"You and Laroux are long time friends. I do not wish to create any friction between you and him…"

"How about between me and _you_?"

The malapert brunette's full lips were pulled back in a wicked grin and the albino's body became rigid in every way.

"I'm sorry," she amended with a laugh at his nubile demeanour. "That was rather out of place for me to say. You must excuse me, I am a _terrible_ flirt. It's in my nature. It's quite fortunate, too, since I need to be charming and outgoing if I want to make any money in my profession."

"I am sorry, Lisette, but I do not know why I even came here today. I told Laroux that I had no interest in cavorting with a prostitute."

Again she laughed, this time it was an unattractive flinty, piercing giggle that monopolised the room and made him cringe.

"Cavorting! Is _that_ what you're calling it?"

He did not know how to respond, regretting that he even made the comment. Remorse filled him for referring to her as a prostitute. It was a spitefull, derogatory term and unnecessary. She invited him into her home and so far did nothing but shower him with benevolence. He had no right to call her something so improper, whether it was true or not.

"Don't worry, I'm not offended," she insisted, reading him like a favourite book. "Don't worry about offending me, either. You are free to say anything you like here, even if it's something about Étienne. What is said in this house, _stays_ in this house. What is _done_ in this house also remains within these walls."

"But that is what I meant by cavorting. I do not wish to use your services."

"Which services do you mean?"

"Services of the sexual nature."

"We aren't doing anything sexual."

"Oui, I know."

"Then what is the problem?"

"There is no problem as long as we abstain."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Pardonnez-moi?"

The abruptness of the inquiry took him off guard.

"Have you ever had sex before?" she made clearer.

"I do not know if that is appropriate."

"I'm sorry. You know what they say. When in Rome… You _are_ in a whore's house, after all. It is my customary habit to be very forward with my…guests. I was wondering if your disinclination to engage in the act that I am proficient in was because you are untouched."

His unease reflected in his expression.

"I assure you that is not the case."

"So you are no virgin?"

"No, I am not a virgin." He opted to refrain telling her that his innocence was taken away by another prostitute.

"Good. Saves me the fear of being stalked. Male virgins tend to get obsessive with those they lose it to. Which is probably why so many women prefer experienced men."

"I find you very attractive, I will not lie to you. However, I still do not wish to touch you in the physical way."

"I understand. You want conversation. Nothing more."

"Oui. Conversation."

"Why can't you get this conversation from the girl you live with? Do you fear talking to her?"

"You ask too many personal questions."

"Let me apologise once more then. As I said: it's an occupational hazard, unfortunately. Nobody wants to hear a whore talk. Except you."

"I did not intend for it to sound that way."

"I know you didn't. You seem like a nice enough young man. A prostitute has much in common with an albino."

This got his attention. Too often he was dismissed as a ghost, tortured by Toulon denizens as being the ghost with the eyes of the devil, tormented by his father echoing those same words in his mind. Sitting next to him was an enticing young woman who was equally tarnished by society's opinion and he was refusing her. And she sat right here, waiting to be tasted like a hot fudge sundae on a muggy July evening.

"We do?" he asked.

"Of course. We are both sorely misunderstood. Called names. Ridiculed. We are outcasts, trash in the eyes of others. The only difference is I am used and thrown away while you are run away from. Am I wrong?"

Sighing, he admitted: "No, you are not wrong."

In a lower voice she further pressed: "I'll bet you're in love with Olivia, aren't you?"

He remained silent.

"I'll bet you love her but she thinks she's too good for you because of her religious beliefs. You need to forget trying to establish any relationship with Olivia. She is a wonderfull girl but she will always be married to Jesus."

"I admire her faith. She is strong."

"And it costs her several relationships. Did you think you were the only one who was ever interested in her? She's had the best of men to choose from: the wealthy, the good looking, the kind gentlemen. Nobody was ever good enough for her. She only resorts back to her god, leaving many a broken male heart in her wake."

"She must have her reasons."

"Maybe she's frigid. I don't know. It's just strange that she hides behind her god when she has so many other opportunities. Instead, she lets life pass her by."

"Life is too short."

"Exactly. Life is too short. Carpe diem, my friend. Even if it is not with me, find someone else. Don't waste time on a woman who will only bring you heartache."

Lisette reached out to lightly brush her fingertips over the corn silk hair on his forearm, tickling him and making the hardened muscles beneath twitch.

"I think you deserve better than someone who thinks a fallible god is more important than the flesh of such a beautiful man."

"I am not beautifull. You are being ridiculous."

Her fingers trailled from his forearm, to the bend of his elbow then up to trace the bulging bicep that flexed and tightened underneath her touch.

"You are a rare delicacy, my friend. You feel good. How can she _not_ want to touch you?"

"She has her reasons. Please do not condemn her for them."

"_Condemn_ her? No, I do not mean to _condemn_ her. I just want you to be aware of the situation you've fallen into."

"I am fully aware, I assure you. I am increasingly aware of it with each passing day."

"I'm sorry, I am again out of place."

Tension mounted between them as Lisette drew closer still. No warning was given as the prostitute firmly placed her lips over those of the albino. His mind grew murky like a polluted stream that sucked the life out of what lived in it. After it dawned on to him what was taking place, he recoilled from her and sat back completely, immobile with his hands on his knees in disbelief for what occurred.

"What's wrong?" Lisette questioned. "Don't you _like_ to be touched?"

"Not especially."

"Why?"

"Most people who touch me mean to harm me."

"I assure you that is _not_ the case here."

She tentatively reached out and stroked his chest, making him flinch.

"Relax," she insisted softly. "I won't hurt you."

Leaning up, she pressed another kiss to his mouth, more firmly this time. Then she whispered huskily in her ear: "I won't hurt you, I promise. I just want to make you feel good. So many others have made you feel bad about yourself, Olivia included. You deserve better, someone who will make _you_ feel better. Don't save yourself for a woman who saves herself for only her god."

The great albino, with all of his hard, straining muscles, did not deny her when Lisette's hand caressed his chest. It would've been easy for him to snap her like an uncooked string of spaghetti if he chose to. With his hulking wrestler sized body he was the antithesis to her dainty, curvy feminine frame and could've caused some heavy damage if he felt otherwise compelled.

He didn't want what she was doing. Not really. But he let her do it any way. He didn't understand why he caved in physically so quickly but mentally beseeched her to quit. Her hand slipped over his chest, down to his belly, as rock hard and cut as his arms and chest were but yet soft from the heaving of his anxious breathing.

"Do not fear me," she murmured. "We are two of a kind. Outcasts of society. The whore and the freak. We were made for each other."

Her hand covered the swollen part of his groin, consequently making his breath hitch and his body became completely petrified as he stopped breathing.

_No! This cannot be happening!_

Her pliant fingers unfastened his jeans and slid inside, the cool palm of her hand against the rock-solid flesh of his midriff then lower. He stiffened even more, willing his heart to stop pounding altogether at this drastic turn of luck. But was it _good_ luck? He thought of the things Lisette and Laroux had told him about Olivia. It was more than feasible that they were right in what they said whether he wanted to hear it or not. Olivia _was_ too good for him and she did focus intently on her religion, especially when he tried to get closer to her. She would never want him for anything more than what he already was.

Lisette was correct also in her identifying with his situation. They were both outcasts, it was absurd for him to refuse her when she understood him better than any one else, even better than Olivia. He wanted badly Olivia but he never got what he wanted. Few did. It was even less likely for him. He could try untill he fell apart and still would get nothing. Yet Olivia remained an invaluable friend to him. Would she ever forgive him for this indiscretion if he gave in to it? Despite his ghostly appearance, he was _not_ a ghost, he was a man made of flesh and nerve endings that desperately needed tending to and what the prostitute was doing felt like a godsend.

Lisette's fingers wrapped tightly around his warm manhood and gently removed it from his jeans, pulling up his shirt to unveil the powder white uncut phallus she sought. Her hand began a steady up and down motion over it and he squirmed as if trying to get away but wasn't so certain if that was indeed what he meant to do. Taking full advantage, she slid her other hand in to explore other parts of his most intimate anatomy.

"Let me show you what I can do," she sweet-talked in a whisper. "How _good_ it feels to be touched."

As she leaned down, her hot mouth engulfed his aroused organ and his hitherto weakened resistance was simply no more.

**Author's Note:** This chapter included an excerpt from Mary Stevenson Parker's poem _Footprints_. It was quite the surprise for myself that I was actually able to give this chapter to you far sooner than I expected. I sat down and started writing and everything else simply vanished as the story flowed out of me! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, this chapter is dedicated to my loyal readers and reviewers. I love you all and hope you continue Silas' journey with me. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Olivia tried to forget the problem with her young guest and dispel the malaise it brought about by working as hard as she could. Since it was still Sunday she refused to work in the vineyard so instead she found herself in the barn, brushing out Goliath's coat so hard that the poor horse was bound for baldness if she didn't smooth her strokes.

_Where is he?_ she wondered anxiously despite the fact that she tried her damnedest to ignore it. _Why do I even care? Étienne is right. He's strong enough to take care of himself. He doesn't need _me

Placing the brush down, she patted Goliath for atonement of her harsh grooming. From her front pocket she removed the lumps of sugar she put there before leaving the house and fed them to the Clysdale.

Damn the lithe white male who, although was not a real ghost, haunted her house and heart like one! Damn the morning she ever found him beneath her olive tree! Why did she have to stumble upon him there?

Laroux went home an hour or two ago, even though she wished he'd remained for her comfort's sake. Again, she noted that she needed to stop using Étienne as a crutch and learn to stand on her own two feet. She needed to meet this problem head-on for only she could solve it.

_I'll solve it all right_, she thought. _Things will be different between me and him from now on._

Finished with Goliath, she returned the horse to the barn for the night, offered him another sugar cube then went into the house to find something to keep her mind occupied. Once there she stopped in the kitchen and looked around. Lost inside the walls in which she lived, a feeling of sheer vulnerability overwhelmed her. It was different, just as she intended for it to be, but didn't expect it to happen so quickly. It was never emptier in the house.

"I suppose I should stop feeling sorry for myself and fill my home with the presence of the Lord," she said aloud to no-one.

Deciding to make the best of the loneliness she felt, she went into the lounge to retrieve her Bible, came back out to pour herself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the refrigerator then went out to sit at the table on the porch. Shamefully, she knew that this was a subconscious excuse to make her wait for the albino.

_The Lord will console me! I don't need him! I don't need him!_

Dusk was approaching rapidly and the albino still had not made an appearance. She detested that she cared like this and desperately did not want to. Not any more. Her lemonade was finished twice over and she already skimmed over rather than read a few books of the Bible that she hadn't even intended to. Made no difference any way. She'd read them several times before already and knew them by heart. The same heart the albino was breaking by not being at home.

Yet when she heard footsteps on the gravel leading up to the porch where she sat her eyes rolled up to verify without moving her head from the Bible in her lap. Indeed it was the albino. As relieved as she was, she also stewed in anger. Angry with him, angry with herself. She resisted the urge to speak to him, demand where he'd been and who he'd been with and needed to practically bite her tongue to silence herself.

The footsteps stopped close by, and her eyes dropped again to the Good Book and she pretended to read. He stood quietly before her, waiting her to say something or at least acknowledge his attendance.

_Ignore him, Olivia! Just ignore him!_

But it was apparent that he would not be overlooked.

"Olivia? he addressed, his voice sounding strained.

She still did not look up. She wanted to but would not allow herself.

"Olivia?" he called a second time, more compellingly.

Something was not right with his voice and she detected it immediately.

"Mmmm?" she responded, trying her damnedest to discount him.

He paused as if either thinking of something to say or waiting her to say something to him. Instead he released a long sigh and continued to wait. For what, she did not know. The prospect intrigued her enough to glance up from the Bible and gaze upon his pale saturnine features. He certainly looked guilty of _something_.

"You are reading your Bible," he stated. Not inquired. Stated. And he stated in a cold manner.

This made her testy.

"Yes," she snipped in a manner that made her sound more short than she actually was. Clearing her throat, she then continued, "You know I enjoy it."

"I do."

That was his response. Nothing more. He stood his ground, at the first step up to the porch where she sat, looking at her in such a way that her irritation softened slightly.

_Something's wrong and he doesn't know how to tell me_, she inferred. _I won't baby him. If he wants me to know he must tell me on his own. _He_ has to come to _me_. I can't involve myself voluntarily or he will _never_ want me._

"I will be inside," he announced.

She remained wilfully unresponsive and watched as he climbed the steps then sauntered passed her and, without another word, entered the house.

Woman's intuition: he was definitely as guilty as sin of something. She just knew it.

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The albino went straight into his bedroom where he shut and locked the door. By the time this was completed, he was already a frustrated, livid, weeping mess. He paced the floor like a hound anxious for the hunt, his head bowed in disgrace for what he allowed to happen. He wished there was something he could lash out at with his fist but he did not want to damage anything that belonged to Olivia. Already enough damage had been wrought.

With no other option, he resorted to striking the mattress of the bed with a closed fist over and over again to relieve his anguish. The mattress continued to be a makeshift punching bag untill his energy was spent. Stretching back across the bed, he covered his face with his hand then exhaled every ounce of oxygen from his lungs.

_I am so sorry, Olivia! I do not deserve to be here in your home! Not after what I_ _have done!_

He remained reclined on the bed, calming himself down slowly with intakes of deep breaths and measured releases. Gradually his composure returned and for a brief length of time he reached a form of nirvana where he was subject to complete sensory deprivation. Then his sins returned to him in vivid colour.

_Let me show you what I can do. How _good_ it feels to be touched._

To say that the albino had been perturbed by the proceedings that occurred after this assertion had been uttered was an understatement. The woman leant down and engulfed him with her mouth, working his flesh expertly and without prejudice to its stark whiteness.

The memory of her performance caused him to groan and he felt himself growing tight against his inseam. Reaching down, he unfastened his jeans and freed his hardened sex to set about sensuously rubbing it, attempting to mimic the motions of Lisette's experienced mouth. His strokes quickened while he thought of what the whore had done, how marvellous it felt; he imagined her doing things other than sucking him off. As he pleasured himself, the sensations and memories intensified untill he was bucking his hips upward, imagining himself fucking Lisette even though they had not gone that far. He had to stifle a cry by biting his bottom lip when he came hard into his palm, his back arching in ecstasy off the bed.

Fantasies never bothered him, he'd acquired many of them about the lady of the vineyard ever since he arrived at the vineyard, but they had always been fantasies solely about Olivia. Now they were about a different woman and, shamefully, at the height of his climax, Lisette's face altered into that of his true heart's desire. This disturbed the albino. Perhaps it was because of his remorse for what transpired between him and Lisette. Maybe it was because he felt like he wrongfully used Lisette in place of Olivia, an injustice against both women. Whatever it was, he did not like it.

"Baisez-moi," he muttered disparagingly, wiping his semen off onto a leg of his jeans. "Je suis damné."

Rolling on to his side, his mind, descending from its sexual zenith, thought of what happened after he spilt himself down Lisette's wanton throat.

The whore pulled away from him as he sprawled over the sofa, gasping. Catching his breath again, he watched as she wiped him from her mouth, smiling slyly.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she inquired.

His dry, tightened throat only enabled him to shake his head.

"Why do you suppose that Olivia believes it sinfull to take care of a man in such a way? Men have needs, after all, and what good is a woman who cannot please her man by fulfilling his needs?"

The dumbfounded albino did not respond but sat straight from the slouch he was left in and stared intently at the woman before him.

"I think it's selfish of Olivia to not…help you out. What a pity that you are left to care for your own needs. You must masturbate an awful lot, don't you? That is a far greater sin than intercourse, which is what comes natural. In spite of what Olivia's little black book tells her, it is human instinct to have sex. None of us would be here if no-one had sex. All of the animals do it and it is acceptable. Why would it be wrong for _us_ to enjoy the flesh?"

"We are intended to know better," he answered, regretting that his voice was weaker than he wanted it to be.

Lisette only offered a smile that intimidated the albino despite his colossal size. He was only able to remain immobile and watch as the supple young woman unbuttoned the blouse she was wearing, baring her breasts for him. His eyes immediately centred there and he knew she relished his unintentional reaction.

"Do you know what's defined as 'being better'?" she coaxed. "Is there a true right or wrong when there is only natural instinct? Go ahead. Touch me."

"No…"

"Touch me."

Her voice was breathless, seductive and he gulped and abjured from her enticement.

"I want Olivia," he told her, voice strained.

"You can't have Olivia. She doesn't want you. But _I_ do."

He tried to back away as Lisette moved forward but found himself wanting of space. He was trapped but she stopped before their bodies touched. Her heat radiated across his skin, she was so _close_ to him. Close enough for him to feel her touch without actually touching her. She drew near to his ear and whispered: "Touch me!"

Then he caved. In a blind haze, the albino found his hands cupping her ample breasts, roughly kneading them within his calloused palms, his fingers twisting her nipples. At the same time, he kissed her aggressively, his tongue invading her mouth. Mad with lust, he swept her up into a powerfull arm then lowered her back on the sofa, pinning her down with his heavy weight.

"Yes!" she sighed as he trailled his tongue down her chin, over her throat and to her breasts. "Oh, yes! _This_ is what you've been missing!"

Lisette's legs wrapped around his waist and she squirmed lewdly beneath him as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, clenching and grinding it between his teeth. She arched up and groaned, pushing her pelvis up against his hardened sex. The sudden friction of their loins further inflamed his arduous passion and, on a blind whim, he tore at her skirts, ripping the fabric and wisked the shredded material to the floor. Lisette's fingers were already desperately clawing at his bulging bicep, opening scratches and he grinded his hips into hers in response.

"You mean to _taunt_ me, harlot?" he hissed. "You mean to rouse my loins and boil my blood with desire?"

"Yes! If your blood boils then extinguish the fire with _me_. What is wrong with that? You need it!"

"You do not know what you are tapping into, slut!"

"I know very well what I'm doing! _I_ know what's in the hearts of men! You might look like a ghost but you are a man and men always think with their flesh!"

For some reason this argument snapped the albino back to his senses. If he continued to maul this woman and ignore how he felt about Olivia then she was correct about male behaviour. Men would be no better than the animals; at least _he_ would be no better.

He pried himself off of her and sat back to gather his wits. Lisette was hot on his trail, sitting up with him and immediately plastered her body alongside his, reaching for his erection again.

"No," he murmured firmly, pushing her hand away.

"What?"

"I cannot do this, Lisette. I will not do it. I love Olivia and I respect her."

"Olivia is not here. And you may love her but she does not reciprocate your feelings. That's why you came here to see me."

"I do not know why I came here. That is the honest truth. But I have already done too much."

He stood, pulled up his jeans and fastened them back up.

"Where are you going?" she questioned.

"Home. Where I belong."

"You _are_ home, my sweet. I told you. Whores and albinos are meant for each other. We are both outcasts of society." When she saw that he wasn't listening, she told him: "You'll be back. I know you will."

He said nothing but looked back at her over his shoulder before left the house.

Coming across Olivia sitting on the porch reading the Bible disappointed him. In his absence she went right back to the failsafe that she always went to. Damned her religion and her god!

The one thing that stayed his hand from reaching out and tearing the cursed thing from her lap and to the ground was the fact that he could smell Lisette on his person, instilling fear in him that perhaps Olivia could sniff out a rival female on him too. The less she knew about the situation, the better. When attempt at conversation failled, he retreated into the house and to his room.

His hate for Olivia's god grew with each passing moment.

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Upon seeing her spectral guest relief not merely washed over Olivia but passed straight through her like a ghost in its own right, leaving as quickly as it came. It was replaced almost immediately with wrath. She noticed the scratch marks across his upper arm and knew if she didn't look back at her Bible she would attack him and claw his red eyes out in rage.

Hell hath no fury indeed.

Soon after he disappeared, she closed her Bible then her eyes and seethed in her irritated fury.

How _dare_ he violate her trust in this way?

Then it hit her. What did she expect from this young man? Did she have feelings for him or not? If she did, could she trust herself to get close enough to him to develop an intimate relationship after all she'd been through? Was he worthy of her affections? Was _any_ man worthy? Was it worth taking a risk? How could she expect him to want her if she wasn't sure if she wanted him? With her giving him mixed signals it was logical that he would move on to the next person and she had no right to be mad at him for doing so.

She meditated for a few moments in effort to calm down enough so she could go into the house. Too upset to eat, she went into the lounge, hoping to actually locate him there so she could expiate her offences. Alas, he was nowhere to be found which meant he was probably in his own room or taking a shower. Hearing no running water, she eliminated the shower and decided to not bother him while he was in his room.

She went back to the lounge where instead of sitting in her customary chair she chose to lie on the sofa in the dark. Not inclined to snap on a light, she laid in the dark as she did not want to be seen by the albino should he feel compelled to wander out of his room for anything. Reaching up, she pulled the afghan draped across it down over her body, snuggling beneath it. But when she drew it up near her face to her dismay she found the albino's scent on it.

_Great. I can't get away from him no matter how hard I try!_

Yet she did not try hard enough for she only nestled deeper into the afghan. She knew she was lying to herself when she considered that it was for the sake of warmth. It was to get indirectly intimate with _him_.

Life simply was unfair, she come to the decision. No matter how hard she tried to get him off her mind at any given point there was something that brought him back. She wondered if it was such a wise choice to keep him here. Did she really need the help around the vineyard _that_ much? Of course she did. But there were others in the village or around the countryside who needed the work just as badly. Someone else could be found and the albino put back out on the streets within a few days.

_What is the matter with you, Olivia?_ she scorned herself. _You can_not_ do that to him! You don't know what's going on! Ask him and see what he tells you! It would be cruel and unchristian for you to put him out on a suspicion! For all you know he did nothing wrong!_

But she fell victim to her own insecurity and softly began to cry, using the afghan to muffle her sobbing.

"Olivia?" the albino's voice called softly and even more gently. "Why are you crying? What happened?"

She instantly sat up, tossed the afghan aside and quickly wiped the tears from her eyes as discreetly as possible.

"What are you talking about?" she tried to deny. "I'm not crying."

"I heard you." Then his stark alabaster form appeared crouching before her, a blaring contrast in the darkness. He reached out to touch her face where her flesh was still damp with the trail of tears. "I _heard_ you."

_Tell him a lie! Don't let him know the truth! He _can't_ know the truth!_

Her brow furrowed as she thought hard and chose her words carefully.

"I, ah, I got news that one of my friends died today," she feinted, gratefull for the dark or else she felt that he could see through her façade. She was never a good liar.

This lie worked in her favour, however, and she saw the genuine concern expressed on his handsome countenance.

"Olivia!" he breathed. "I am so _very_ sorry!"

Shocked by his reaction, she nodded. Then he surprised her further by embracing her dearly.

"My condolences, mon amour."

Trying to be civil and ignore her knowledge of the marks on his arm, she pressed against him and was welcomed by the same scent that was on the afghan except stronger. Of course it was stronger, she reasoned, he was its source.

"Thanks," she muttered, drinking in his warmth and masculine outdoorsy scent.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

_Ask him!_ she demanded of herself. _Ask!_

"No, I don't think so. I'd just like to be alone. Where were you, any way?"

"In my room. I was coming in here to get another book to read."

"No, I didn't mean now. I meant earlier. Where did you go today?"

She felt his lithe muscles tense and anticipated his response.

"I took a walk," he confessed.

"You did? Off of vineyard property?"

"Oui."

"Back to that secret thinking place you go to?"

"Non, amour. I meant to stay around here but I found myself walking farther and farther away."

"And where did you end up?"

"In town."

"On your own? You walked into town on your own? After the ill treatment you received when we went there together?"

His red eyes blazed in the darkness.

"If it has gone unnoticed by you," he said, "I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I have done so ever since I was seven years old."

Pulling from his arms, she retorted: "Yes, of course. Silly me to think differently."

"No, Olivia. I like when you worry about me."

She was puzzled at that development.

"You do?"

"Of course. Everyone needs someone to care about them. No-one else has ever cared about me. No-one except my mother."

Guilt spread across her conscious like a wildfire over petrol.

"Right," she said softly. "Sorry."

"Make no apologies to me."

He traced his thumb over her fluttering eye lid then kissed her there, making her smile. An irrefutable tension settled between them.

"Are you going to be all right?" he solicited. "I do not intend to disturb you when you wish to be alone."

"I'm fine. Take your book. Go back to your room. I'll be retiring early tonight. I want to be ready for work tomorrow."

"Do you think it a good idea for you to work tomorrow? Perhaps you should take the time off and get your thoughts back in order."

"Believe me, work is a good thing for me when I've got something on my mind."

He nodded his understanding and stood up to his full staggering height.

"Do not stay awake for too long," he advised.

"I won't."

She watched as he left the room without taking the book with him.

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The night was endless for the albino who woke up at every hour from his restless sleep. First he was too hot then he was too cold and either way his blankets were haphazardly across half of his body with the other half on the floor. Thoughts ran unchecked through his troubled mind:

Did Lisette tell Laroux what transpired between them? What would happen if she did? Would Laroux confront him about it tomorrow during work? Would he relay the story to Olivia? How would Olivia handle it? Would she throw him to the wolves or continue to allow him to work and live on the vineyard? Would it be the end of their friendship? Worse, would it mean the end of a relationship with her before he had the opportunity to begin one?

Thinking this way was not going to get him anywhere, he knew, particularly at this hour of night when nothing could be done to better it. Yet it was impossible to extract it from him his mind. Hour upon hour passed before he began drifting off into sleep when his alarm sounded to wake him up for the workday.

Hoping that Olivia was not yet awake, he lurched out of bed and into the bathroom to take a cold shower, hoping it would quell the morning wood. It didn't and he needed to use manual persuasion to stop it. Sadly, as he came he wasn't sure if he was thinking of Lisette or Olivia.

After he finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into his room where he removed the towel and stood in front of the open bedroom window, letting the warm breeze wafting inside dry him off. Since the vineyard was in a rural area it was private enough that he had no worry of being viewed by anyone.

Father-Monstersnarled: _How could they see _you_ any way?_ . _You're transparent! You're nothing!_ _The ghost with the eyes of a devil! Nobody can see you! Nobody _wants_ to see _you

Fully dried, he strode to the bed and plopped face-down among its unmade blankets.

_Lisette did not look _through_ me. She looked _at_ me._

With dread, his eyes fell on the scratch marks on his bicep. _Boise-moi!_ Had Olivia noticed that? Was it why she acted indifferently to him last night? It was the only explanation for the sudden apathy she exhibited.

There was a knock on his door which sent him scrambling beneath the blankets as he told the caller to enter. He hoped Olivia for to enter to tell him that breakfast was ready but was instead surprised when Étienne Laroux poked his head in.

"I was expecting Olivia," the albino growled unhappily.

"Yes, she sent me to retrieve you for breakfast. Are you ill?"

"In a matter of speaking."

To the albino's dismay the handsome man stepped into his room, looked back to check if Olivia was around, then shut the door behind him.

_And here it comes!_ the albino mused morosely.

"I know you went to see Lisette," Laroux did not disappoint by saying, his voice very low. The albino wanted to smack the glee off of his face. "Well? What did you think?"

"I have no comment."

"She's good, isn't she?"

"I did nothing and even if I did I would never tell."

Laroux smiled, playing along.

"Yes, gentlemen never kiss and tell, do they? I know she was satisfactory; you don't have to tell me. She said that you stomped off without saying good-bye. That was most unfavourable of you after she was mercifull enough to…"

"Keep your voice low!" the albino hissed covertly. "I do not need Olivia to find out!"

Laroux's spirits rose high enough that the man practically glowed.

"Ah! So something _did_ happen! You wicked dog! I told you she's beautifull and indiscriminate!"

"I am not proud of my actions."

"Of course you aren't. Olivia has influenced your way of thinking. Before you came here did you have any inhibitions about sex? Of course not! How can anyone condemn you for doing what is natural?"

"Lisette said the same thing."

"That's because it's true. Don't let Olivia and her little black book pollute your thinking, my friend. If we as human beings weren't meant to have sex then it would not be in our nature to want it. We would have little or no sex drive. And, speaking frankly, that is all we as men think of, am I right? It's human instinct. Human nature."

The albino glared at Laroux with distrust. He was saying all of the right words that justified his actions and made him feel better about doing them but something was not _right_. He couldn't quite figure out what that could be.

"Should I tell Olivia that you'll be a while longer or should I tell her you are not well and won't be joining us today?"

The albino sighed and peered down at the portion of blanket clenched into his hand. Releasing it, he brought his eyes up to the scratches and nodded.

"Tell her that I am ill," he allowed. "I am running a fever of some sort."

Laroux smiled again. The albino enviously gazed upon the dark male beauty. With an olive complexion, shoulder length wavy black hair and finely chiselled masculine features, Étienne Laroux resembled some dark angel who descended from Heaven to tempt him with a plethora of sin.

"Be carefull with how many lies you tell," warned the sinister angel. "They do tighten an invisible noose about one's neck. But for you, I will tell her what you want as a favour to a new friend."

Dramatically and like a famous magician, Laroux waved and twisted his hand and that which had been empty was now filled with a shiny red apple. He extended the fruit to the albino who peered at it with scepticism.

"Take it," tempted Laroux. "The Americans say that an apple a day will keep the doctors away."

Annoyed, the albino took the apple from Laroux but more out of trying to shut him up than accepting a friendship.

"Good boy," Laroux praised. "Now I will go tell Olivia your message."

Laroux left the room and the albino stared at the fruit for several seconds before biting into it. Sweet and juicy it was but he couldn't help feeling that his acceptance of the apple was meant to seal the purchase of something more than friendship.

**Author's Note:** Surprise, surprise: I'd love to thank my faithfull LJ girls who (**phoenixrising06**, **libriovolant**, **harmonylsc,** **blucrowe** and **lilyculy** – who will play a larger role in this story very soon), in no particular order, inspire me and keep me going with their kind friendships. This small return to smut was for you, chicksters!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

For the whole of the ensuing week, Olivia gazed upon him strangely, as if she was aware of what happened with Lisette. For the first two days, the great albino feinted illness and kept to his room, reading novel after novel that he surreptitiously stole from the shelves of the lounge library while Olivia and Laroux were at work in the vineyard. He did not want her to catch sight of him for fear that he would involuntarily give his betrayals away with a slight gesture, comment or look. On one of his trips to the lounge Laroux caught sight of him and smiled knowingly before, like a ghost, he drifted back into the protection of his room. It was one more time when he willed himself transparent.

During his unwarranted time off, he sneaked out at night to the fig tree where he engaged in lustfull acts that would infuriate Olivia's god. Leaving Goliath in the barn, he chose to walk bare chested and barefoot to the secret spot, hoping that by doing so he would acquire a true sickness so he wouldn't need to lie to Olivia any more. Each time he orgasmed he was uncertain if he was thinking of Lisette or Olivia or some incorporation of both women. Always afterwards he held a sense of self loathing in his heart, not for the act of solitary pleasure but for misleading Olivia.

Yet the deceit escalated rather than waned untill he found himself in a tangled mess he was confident Olivia would no longer forgive him for. The first evening he stayed in sick she came to retrieve him for supper after sundown but he explained he was too weak to join her. She catered his meal to him on a tray with an aspirin to relieve any fever or body aches he might have felt if he actually was sick. She returned to fetch his dirty dishes and to check on his health an hour later then left him with the promise of breakfast in bed the next day.

The cycle repeated with the promised breakfast and when she caught him creeping into the kitchen later for a snack she suggested that he would feel better if he joined her for supper on the porch that evening. Fresh air would do him a wealth of good, she reasoned, so he agreed and she went on her merry way. He finished reading the book he had with him that day but he couldn't recall how the story ended or even what it was about in the first place. Annoyed at his self-made predicament he angrily threw the book across the room to hit the wall where the crucifix once hung.

When evening descended he imagined Olivia cooking supper and his stomach growled at the heady tendrils of aroma he was convinced reached him from the kitchen. If it was all in his head or not he didn't know but eventually Olivia knocked on his door and announced that it was ready and out on the porch waiting so he should join her before it got cold. She shuffled away, out to her meal for two out on the porch, but he never arrived. Instead, he thought of her sitting alone on the porch, picking at her food and waiting for his appearance.

He _wanted_ to meet her but he felt too unworthy to do so because of his misrepresentations, resulting in his continuance to lie in bed, choosing to read and wallow in his self-pity. She would be disappointed, he knew, but she would get over it. Perhaps Laroux himself replaced him at the table that night.

Later his body tensed with anticipation when he heard Olivia's footsteps in the hallway, probably going to turn in for the night. She stopped outside his room and he began to sweat as he willed her to leave without bothering him. Tension thickened the gap between the bed and the door and the albino swore he heard her softly mutter a good night before going about her business. Her secret acknowledgement he wasn't meant to hear supplemented his guilt.

An hour later when his stomach growled to be fed, he slinked into the dimly lit kitchen in search of something to eat. The first place he looked, of course, was the refrigerator but there was nothing appetising. He opted for a few pieces of fruit from the bowl kept on the counter but when he went to make his selection his eyes fell upon a plate covered in tin foil, a note next to it.

_She saved supper for me!_

Picking up the note, he read her tight, pretty script:

_Sorry you couldn't join me. You were greatly missed. Hope you at least eat the food I saved for you because you'll need your strength._

Sitting at the table, he devoured the meal left for him, guilt seeping deeper into his heart. He loved her. He appreciated her. But he _lied_ to her. Repetitively. For sure his visit to the fig tree that night incurred fantasies of his one true beloved.

On the third morning he bit the bullet and got up for work. Tired from his antics at the fig tree the night prior, he didn't bother to snap on the light in the bathroom or close the door while he was there. He lathered his muscular body languidly in the shower and rinsed off for several long minutes before leaving the cascading water to stand in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection sans towel. A startled cry from the doorway made him turn and come face to face with a wild eyed and red faced Olivia.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, trying with difficulty to prescind her attention from his groin to his eyes. "_Why didn't you shut the door?!_"

He shrugged without care, not bothering to cover himself. He knew that his well defined physique contrasted enough with the darkness to allow her to make out the details of his milky flesh. _Let my transgressions be bared to her!_ he thought cagily.

"Showering," he replied nonchalantly, hoping his errant ways were exposed enough for her to see.

"Not that I'm complaining about…" she sighed, "the view, _but_ for the preservation of your own privacy just shut the door."

She turned to walk off, disappointing him that he wasn't as transparent as his father accused him of being.

"I am sorry to offend you," he offered, hoping his subliminal confession reached her.

"Believe me, no offence is taken." She paused, her brow furrowed in thought, then added: "What happened last night? You weren't feeling up to supper?"

His head bowed in shame.

"Non, mon amour, je suis très désolé. It was so unintentional."

He cringed inside at his telling of another falsehood.

Hesitantly, she stepped into the bathroom and unexpectedly placed a cool hand upon his face, startling him.

"You don't seem warm today," she informed. "Perhaps the aspirin broke your fever."

He nodded ever so slightly. "Oui, perhaps."

She abruptly grew embarrassed yet again and backed out of the room.

"I'm sorry," she amended, "I'm being rude! You're…unclothed…and I still stand here as if I see you…nude…every day…"

Her voice trailled off sotto voce and she turned to face the direction in which she planned to retreat.

"Hurry into the kitchen," she maintained. "Étienne will arrive shortly."

"As you wish," he returned softly.

Then Olivia was gone.

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Not the least bit mortified but rather quite proud of herself, Olivia dashed from the bathroom and down the hallway to the kitchen, trying her damnedest to suppress a smug smile from spreading across her face.

_The early bird got the worm this morning! Oh! Wait! I should rephrase _that_ one! The early bird got the bird's eye view sounds better!_

So heated was she, Olivia seated herself at the table in the nook for a moment, trying to gather herself and stop smiling. It was a scene she wouldn't mind waking up to every morning, she admitted. He was sinewy and toned; it was plain ridiculous that women couldn't look beyond the preternatural alabaster colour of his flesh to actually enjoy peering upon that flesh.

_I have my own private David!_

She sighed to herself and got up to begin preparing breakfast.

Throughout the day she found herself staring at him intermittently like she did during his first few days under her employment. She couldn't help it. Hell, she even fantasised of them picking grapes by moonlight so that his tender flesh would not burn when he, for some unexplained reason, removed his clothing and worked in the buff.

She became aware of the way Étienne occasionally passed his own gazes at the albino. It seemed as if the two men shared some affable secret that she was not privy to. Perhaps they felt more comfortable around each other now and worked through the albino's feeling of inferiority long enough to become friends. She smiled at the prospect of their possible friendship. He was in need of a male confidante and she was glad that he seemed to have it. The albino had nobody else except her…unless Étienne was right that he was carrying on an undisclosed love affair behind her back.

This notion made her quickly frown. She didn't want _that_ to be their secret. She had to inquire about the matter to Étienne. _He_ would tell her the truth if he knew it. Selfishly, she wanted the albino for herself. No matter how hard she tried to conceal her want of him from herself she could not hide from it. It lurked in the shadows at the back of her mind like a demon that sprung to light whenever she was alone. It assaulted her in dreams and vicious thoughts as it did now. She wanted to know who it was that he was sneaking off to spend time with and confront the slag. She wanted to claw the bitch's eyes out. Worse, it troubled her because she didn't like it when she thought that way. But she could not help it. It was as if this unseen woman was stealing away something she, untill now, believed she had an unspoken exclusive claim to.

_Is God going to forgive me for thinking this way?_ she wondered.

She hoped so, because before the story concluded she knew she would be worse for wear in the eyes of the Lord.

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_Why is Olivia staring at me?_ the albino pondered while the three of them plucked grape clusters from the vines and placed them in baskets strapped to either side of Goliath and the other vineyard horse. It was harvest time and there were many things that needed to be done so there was no time for frivolous and petty behaviour but he could not get passed the single thought of: _She is looking at me because she _knows_! She can still see the scratch marks!_

He tried to eject the thoughts from his mind just like he did when he initially started work on the vineyard and noticed the pretty woman watching him then. But this time was different. He knew that all the passed hours she spent looking his way was for another reason from the one she looked at him for presently. In the past she was merely curious but the curiosity and slight prejudice she may have held for him at that time should have been evaporated by now. They'd slept in each other's arms since, after all. That theory left only the scratches as an excuse.

_She keeps looking at my arm! She_ knows!

When he caught her gawking, she smiled and paid mind to her work again. Laroux detected the game the pair was playing and gently nudged the albino's arm, offering a knowing Pecksniffian grin. This made the albino grow unbearably uncomfortable.

Each day of the remainder of the week went by with long, laborious hours in the vineyard so that he found himself collapsing into bed and falling into deep sleep directly after eating. No reading, no conversing with Olivia, not a thing other than sleeping occupied his free time. He knew Olivia was tired too and she excused her silence with exhaustion which he quietly accepted. During each meal he longed to take her hand and simply hold it for console of her presence and to display some form of affection. Alas, he never acted upon his own desires for her and retired to bed with a terrible feelling of loss in the pit of his stomach.

Every night that fell brought with it erotic dreams of a certain woman. Too drained from working to visit the fig tree, he stayed in his room and lazily wanked off before falling asleep or after waking from such dirty dreams. The only plus was that at least the cursed crucifix was behind his closet door with its fixated Armageddon eyes elsewhere. If it hadn't been Olivia's property he would've gladly placed it upon a pyre somewhere. It was creepy.

Staying inside his room to masturbate and going to sleep earlier than usual without reading actually helped his body to rejuvenate in a progressively slow amount of time. When Sunday finally came upon them, he was surprised to find himself peculiarly spry and reinvigorated. As for the taunting dreams that he suffered from on a nightly basis, he knew of only one cure for them, a cure he intended on taking care of as soon as he was able. That was why when Sunday morning came he was up earlier than Olivia, even after a restless night of contemplation on whether or not he was going to do the right thing. He showered and dressed quickly, fearing that the apprehensive Olivia would be up early enough to catch him.

Taking care to shut the door quietly behind him, he all but ran from the house to escape any possible prying eyes. Upon reaching the dusty road leading away, he nervously turned back to check; he found nobody there, at least for as much as he could tell.

This particular walk into town was different than the last one. He had a greater purpose this time and sustained a one-track mind. As usual, a few villagers were milling about, some in their Sunday best and on their way to the local church. Even their disgruntled peering went ignored, not because they no longer bothered him but rather because he was deep in concentration about the business he aimed on tending to with this trip. His good spirits briefly went acidic when he considered how surprising it was that Olivia never got up to attend service, being that she was God's ever-devoted disciple. The villagers, especially the ones going to church, still gave him glares of disgust or terror as he walked among them but this time he did not care. The business he had removed him from them; for this particular trip he was beyond their pettiness.

Rather than masking his destination as he had before, he indomitably stepped beyond the gate, through the garden and up to the doorstep of Lisette. Knocking firmly, he waited with impatience.

The door opened and he inhaled the feminine scent the prostitute carried. She was positively indecent, still wearing her negligee as he evidently awakened her from sleep. In his eyes she didn't look like someone who'd just woken up but more like someone who'd just had a good, hard fuck. She appeared merely half-surprised as she greeted him.

He did not reply. Not with words. Instead he shoved passed her to enter the house, slamming the door shut behind him. This outraged the woman who spewed a cascade of curses at him. Paying no heed to her, he drew her supple body against his wiry one and pressed a heated kiss to her mouth. At first she did not know how she should react but when he snaked a hand down her midriff and to her nether region she readily acquiesced to his demand. Sliding his hand into her knickers, she whimpered against his mouth as he located the correct spot on her anatomy.

No longer needing to hold her into place, he released her wrist long enough to unfasten his jeans and shove them to the floor. As he stepped out of them, the fingers in her knickers wound around the flimsy article of clothing and easily ripped it from her body. Lust unbound, he lifted her up and she innately wrapped her legs tightly about his waist, her arms around his neck. Still kissing fervently, he carried her to the settee but even before he laid her down onto its plush cushions, he was already buried deep inside her.

As large as his member was, her body was eager and moist enough to not hinder penetration or the desperate, bestial thrusting that followed. He was being rough but she accepted each deep movement he made inside her, inspiring him to push into her harder, faster. So strong were his thrusts that he needed to keep one foot on the floor for leverage to prevent the other end of the settee from rising up and banging against the floor. Grunting in pleasure, he kept at her with the prowess of a horny young bull, enjoying the warm wetness tightly wrapped around him. Her body grew rigid beneath him and she cried out, arching her back to press up against him, her body gripping his manliness even tighter. She burst out loudly with a barrage of French curses, struck his shoulder with the base of her hand then sank her fingernails deep into his back, raking his sweaty, pallid flesh.

Still he did not relent. As she descended from her climax, he noticed that her body was even slicker and tighter around him, if that was possible. It drove him mad with need and he pounded into her frantically, knowing he was about to come. He held on to her hips and plunged deeper still, the friction maddening. Anchoring himself as far inside her as he possibly could, he came like a cannon, his head thrown back and eyes closed tight as he growled something so bestial that he himself was unclear of what it was he said. It had been so long since he had true intercourse that his orgasm sent his entire body into quivering tremors.

After he was completely spent, he disengaged from her and flopped backwards on the other side of the settee, trying to catch his breath. He felt spectacular; better than following a hard day's work with a shower. His pasty flesh was coated in sweat from the strenuous activity in the morning humidity but they both were in the same condition. Wiping the perspiration from his face, he saw that he'd torn most of Lisette's negligee from her body and she was trying to arrange what was left of it in a cheapened effort at modesty.

"I _knew_ you would have a change of heart," she told him. "But I didn't expect it to be so soon."

"I needed it," he responded simply.

"Yes, I know. I've been trying to tell you that."

She moved from her end of the settee and crawled up his body to nestle against him, giving his pectoral a quick kiss and his nipple a playfull lick before placing her head on his chest.

"Would you like another go?" she inquired.

He discovered satisfactorily that indeed his long neglected erection was growing again.

"If you want me to be Olivia," Lisette continued, "I'll play along."

The albino's brow furrowed with confusion.

"Why would I want you to be Olivia?"

She passed him a baffled look of her own.

"Because you called out to her when you came."

So _that_ was what he said! "I did?"

"I'll be _anyone_ you want me to be."

Lisette's hand climbed the inside of his thigh to cup his genitals in her palm and gently massage them. Opening his legs for her as wantonly as she had for him he closed his eyes to enjoy her touch. It had been _so_ long…_too_ long…

"Relax," Lisette muttered in his ear. "I'll take _good_ care of you."

She slithered down his body and her hand was replaced by her mouth, taking him completely to the base. Instinctively, his hips bucked up but she carefully forced them back down so she could do her work and prime him for more intercourse. After a few moments of sucking him off, he felt her straddle and impale herself upon him. Placing her hands over his bulging pecs, she started her ride.

Thinking of Olivia, he concentrated with closed eyes as Lisette pleasured him in reckless aggression. Her hands took his, drawing them to where her wetness and his hardness met, then up a little higher. She brushed his fingers over the special spot nestled within her slick flesh and moved them in a circular motion upon it, causing her to gasp and moan louder.

He did not know when he started to say such things but an endless tirade of explicit profanity flowed from his mouth. At first he was unaware that he was making such statements; all he could feel was the erotic friction in his pelvic region while all he saw was Olivia's face on the backs of his eyelids.

With a final thrust deep inside his new lover and eyes clenched tighter still, he came harder than he did the first time with the image of his beloved etched clearly into his mind. After he finished, he was disappointed to find upon reopening his eyes that the woman above him wasn't Olivia but Lisette and remorse pained him.

Lisette's smile was as vibrant as radioactivity as she leant down and coaxed him into an unyielding kiss. Stretching her body down over his in a way that kept them joined, she sighed contentedly. At first he was irresolute on where to place his hands but when his fingertips touched her flesh he trailed them down her backside to cup her bum firmly.

Horrible remorse for what took place plagued him but a guilty conscious did not prevent him from taking her several more times between cat naps and snacks. He took her on the kitchen counter, the dining room table, on the stairwell, in the shower and eventually in the bed. She was greatly impressed by his virile stamina, proclaiming that she never before had a lover as capable as he was. That day she schooled him in the fine art of lovemaking and they practised assorted techniques and positions which were all awkward for him with his sole prior sexual experience being when the prostitute took his virginity quite some time ago. But he was a fast learner which further impressed her. When he noticed twilight darkening the sky beyond her bedroom window pane he muttered in her dozing ear that he needed to leave. She placidly complained but let him leave, too sated to put up much of a protest.

Leaving the house wearing the stench of sex like a thick perfume, he found himself a different person from the one who arrived earlier. There was an energised spring in his step that had not been there before, a step which carried him home much faster. The villagers, their numbers increased since he'd walked into town that morning, still gave him their cruel looks and mocking remarks but things were _changed_. He walked with his head higher, his piercing eyes gazing at them as if he were a god handing down their sentences. It felt wonderfull to not be concerned about their opinions. He imagined that each venture into town from here forward would be a changed experience for him.

So altered was his disposition that when he reached home he was not offended by Olivia's apathetic curtness when he greeted her in the lounge. She was reading, as expected, _The Holy Bible_. His stomach wretched in contrasting how she spent her day and how he spent his. Entering the room just to say good night to her, he retired to his room and shut out her pious absurdity with the bedroom door.

It was then when a terribly facetious idea popped into his mind. Feelling completely wicked and still stinking of his sinfull tryst, he retrieved the wooden crucifix from its closet prison and affixed it back in place on the wall. He stared at it with an insolent grin, his hand cupping himself between the legs. Massaging his sore but restive, adamantine manhood back to life untill he urgently unfastened his jeans and dropped them to his ankles, he stabilised himself against the wall with an extended arm and began to stroke himself. Although his eyes were deviously fixated on the crucifix, his thoughts brought back the sweet recent memory of squeaking bedsprings, the pound of flesh against flesh and the shrill cries of the woman beneath him. It did not take long for him to climax with weakened knees and a stifled cry.

Feeling particularly fatigued, he felt like a young lion that, after overthrowing the leader of the pride, spent his day emptying himself inside the females of the group, and was ready to rest for the night. First he cleaned up at the basin then stripped naked before inserting himself between the cool bed sheets.

Although he emoted a scramble of feelings toward Olivia and what he did with Lisette, he felt most of all particularly satisfied with himself. Why should he allow his youthfull prowess to waste away in frustrated celibacy? It was Olivia's choice to not partake in such decadent acts of passion with him. Why should _he_ suffer when someone was willing to share lustfull bliss with him? Just because he lived with her did not mean that he was a dedicated acolyte to her disappointing god.

_You had your chance with me when I was a child_, he thought as he gazed upon the wooden Christ. _You failled far too often for me to align myself with you. Maybe someday Olivia will see what kind of a failure you are too._

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In the morning as Olivia lie in bed she found herself incapable of keeping her thoughts from the meaning for his existence on the vineyard. Was he some heathen from Hell coming to test the strength of her convictions? Often Hell disguises itself as something beautifull, pure and angelic in order to tempt the righteous. Did the albino not personify these very things with his physique alone? He was a striking creature of peculiar beauty with a kind disposition. His tragic past had made him amoral in his beliefs, however, and this was something that could influence her if she allowed it.

Already he meddled with her emotions and she loathed that. It was evident she held sentiments of the passionate nature for him and that was what she feared. She felt too much for a man who didn't even so much as share her faith. They had absolutely nothing in common except the work on this vineyard and that was it. The sole explanation that she continued to come up with was that he had that more sinister reason of persuade her away from the Lord. A black demon painted in white skin; he would be her spiritual death. Were they a match made in Heaven or a rivalry made in Hell?

Yet she could not find it in her heart to cast him back out on the streets. If someone had shown him such compassion when he was a child then perhaps he wouldn't be the godless heathen he presently was. She needed to learn to separate work from personal; he was there to work and nothing more. She would continue to provide him with meals and board, of course, as well as minimal mutual conversation but beyond that nothing more. No more touching heart-to-hearts over wine and books.

For the sole purpose of keeping the peace because she needed a strong man like him to help with the approaching harvest she knew it wise to keep things to a bare bones minimum. She would learn to resist and to turn the other way when he did something out of line. He was his own person and she was hers. Nothing would change that no matter how badly she wanted him to change. She knew her place and she needed to learn to stay there. With these new ground rules things should be better and the tension between them she believed herself to be the one who owed the albino atonement for her recent harshness.

She got up to make breakfast like she usually did then after the table was ready she went to wake him up herself. Groggy but seemingly anxious to begin the day, he all but leapt from his bed to shower. It was odd, his behaviour, and she just wrote it off as a male thing. She would never understand how men operate, she decided as she went back to the kitchen.

That day he appeared to be in a wonderfull mood and Étienne noticed the queer glances Olivia continually gave the albino. He took an opportunity to sidle next to her and mutter in her ear that it was apparent that he kept disappearing because he had a woman on the side. Olivia frowned, not understanding why the thought of the albino with another woman hurt her so much. Annoyed with herself that she became so petty, she transplanted herself to do work elsewhere in the vineyard where she could not see either man.

Two days passed without incident despite the semi-cold shoulder the albino and the mistress of the manor were still giving each other. They just simply stayed out of each other's way and because she wanted to spend time outside in hopes of deepening her tan further before the winter she sent the albino to work in the wine cellar. In pent-up perturbed infuriation she wanted him out of her sight as often as possible.

She and Laroux worked equally fast without him, reminiscing about their childhood together, how the wine business was, gossip about people who used to be in their lives or a handfull who still were. They discussed everyone with no mention of the albino working diligently in the cellar and that pleased Olivia well. Occasionally the old friends slacked off by tossing grapes at or chasing each other through the rows of trellises. As the sun began to tuck into its horizon bed, they engaged in a frolicking game of hide and seek. Olivia dashed off in childish glee, imitating a game from so long ago when the sun hadn't bothered her, she had scabs on scraped knees and her hair was in pig tails. Heart pounding madly, she escaped to hide around a tree behind the back row, believing that Laroux wouldn't consider her leaving the confines of the vineyard. She waited with a smile, her heart pounding.

That was when she heard a strange sound, as if something heavy was moving through the foliage of the trellises. The framework shook and wavered, grabbing her imagination. Maybe it was Laroux stalking her. Maybe it was a large animal hunting her.

"Olivia!"

The sound of Laroux calling out to her jolted her back to her senses.

"Olivia! Help me!"

Étienne sounded desperate, overwrought and she followed his shouts back into the vineyard and to his location. Somehow, while she'd basked in her creative reverie, one of the trellises had fallen on top of him. Étienne was crouched beneath the framework, holding it up by an arm suspended above his head, a gash in his forearm bleeding rather profusely. What she pretended to be an animal coming after her had actually been a large portion of the trellis row toppling down upon her friend and it was too much for him to handle on his own.

"Help me!" he pleaded.

She rushed to his aid, trying to lift the heavy trellis from his body but found she could not do it. She told him to hold on while she went to find the massive albino for only he could raise the trellis off of Laroux. Carefull to gradually return the crushing pressure on her friend's body, she then ran as fast as she could to fetch the albino, for only his sturdy strength would be able to free Étienne entirely.

She rushed off, calling him loudly as she ran with all of her might. As she hastened through the vineyard rows it felt as if she was running a marathon. It took an eternity before she entered the house through the back door, shouting for him. Not seeing him immediately, she opened the door to the cellar and yelled his name down the steps and got no response. Running like a lunatic through the rest of the house, she checked the kitchen, the lounge, the bathroom, then his bedroom but they were all empty. Every room was empty. He was not in the house at all.

Where _was_ he?!

Wondering if, by some odd chance he was out front, she slammed open the door and stepped out on the porch. Then she stopped short.

There stood the albino beneath the olive tree. And he was not alone. A woman was with him. A _woman_. She couldn't believe it! Étienne had been correct in his assumption! Squinting in the sunlight, she did her best to see what the woman looked like but she couldn't see her face at all. The albino's arm was snaked about her waist and he whirled her around to press her against the olive tree where he heatedly kissed her. Tears welled into her eyes, her throat and heart swelled in tight knots. The albino's large hand brushed up the woman's bare thigh as she cupped his genitals through his jeans and…

_Étienne was in trouble and needs me to be coherent!_

Upon recollecting the problem at hand, she snapped back to reality and bellowed the albino's name. When he detached his mouth from his companion's, he gazed over at Olivia with a fearfull expression, knowing that he was caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing.

Putting her rage aside, she told him: "Étienne needs your help! Hurry! It's an emergency!"

She waited and watched as he spoke to the woman who nodded and started to stroll up the driveway, back to the road without bothering to look back. The albino broke into a run to reach the traduced lady of the house.

The scurry back into the vineyard was a longer eternity for Olivia, worsened by the albino bastard meeting her with dead silence. When Laroux's solitary battle with the delinquent trellis was in full view, the albino raced over to help. Together the two men were able to rectify the wall of grape clusters after a few lengthy moments of struggling.

Olivia waited around long enough to make certain the trellis was secure and that Laroux was in the clear from harm. Before the men finished and turned around to say something to her, she was already gone from sight. She'd banished herself to her room to weep like the little girl she envisioned to be merely moments ago.

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**Author's Note:** I'm going to feel like I've won an Oscar in this AN, for I have loads of people to thank! First and foremost, I'd like to dedicate this latest chapter of _Haunting a Ghost_ to my newest niece Emily Scarlet, born on 25 January 2007. I must confess that I took such a long hiatus because I seriously considered removing both _HaG_ and _OaW_ from FF.N but obviously opted not to. Instead I ended up adding two more stories to my list (_My Brother's Keeper_ has been selfishly monopolising my time from all other stories). Part of the inspiration to continue came from the return of an old family friend into our lives, courtesy of my brother. Jim Fullington, this chapter is as much yours as it is mine. And what would a chapter be without an acknowledgement to my LJ Chicks (you know who you are at this point!) Since some of you have made the suggestions to put translations at the end of the chapter because there's too much French in this story, I will do that from here onward. My apologies for any inconvenience I've caused; I was simply trying to add a little wonder to the story because sometimes not knowing for certain adds to the thrill of everything. I had no idea you guys would actually want to know. Originally I was going to have a large portion of Silas speaking to Lisette very graphically but because I felt I made you wait long enough I censored that portion and forewent any needed translations for it just so I could update the story (_been far too long!!_) Hope you continue reading because I'll continue writing. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It was a bitter harvest on the vineyard ever since that day. Gulfs of silence and distance separated the albino from Olivia from dawn to twilight as they took care to avoid each other to escape the awkwardness that fell between them. She was not rude to him but acted differently than from before; like a person highly insulted that she wasn't let in on an important secret accidentally discovered. In a sense that was precisely what it had been. She never expected to witness what she saw that afternoon in the front garden and it shocked her beyond comparison. The only thing the albino took comfort in was that she treated Laroux the same way, for a reason unknown to him.

Laroux, on the other hand, seemed to understand what exactly it was that upset the woman. It was evident that he knew something the albino didn't and that was what troubled him about the handsome man. He felt obligated to question Olivia's best friend incessantly to learn the secret that _he_ wasn't being let in on but whenever he tried to approach him, Olivia magically appeared and found her way between them. It was obvious that she did not want the men to converse at all with each other which contradicted her preceding expectations of them. Before she had _wanted_ them to be friends, for the albino to give her childhood companion the benefit of the doubt and form a friendship yet now she readily came between them, curtly handing out orders that sent either one of them to a task that kept them apart.

It wasn't just in the vineyard. Olivia wouldn't speak to him during dinner or breakfast when he attempted to make light banter. Being in the dark about what was happening, he carefully chose his words and mostly stuck to literary topics. But the coldness that he was met with encouraged him to shut his mouth and quail away. Olivia just did not want to be bothered and he would retire to his room in a fog of disappointment.

With valuable conversation with Olivia absent, meeting Lisette every Sunday for a day of sex was the only thing that the albino now had to look forward to. It was the lenitive salve for the sting of Olivia's rejection but it also made the albino retrogress precariously back to his life on the streets, a life he strove to put an end to ever since he met Olivia. But the lady of the vineyard didn't want him after all and he was requisite to find other alternatives. So he revelled in his weekly diablerie with the seductive and addictive Lisette, not bothering to conceal his misconduct from Olivia any longer.

Why should he? She'd had her chance and she refused. Did she actually believe that he would pine away for her while he rotted in his room?

These thoughts enraged the albino beyond measure. It instigated him to visit Lisette on Saturdays as well. The first time he showed up at her house under the cloak of midnight and tapped at her bedroom window to wake her she was at first irritated but when her eyes found Goliath, whom the albino rode in on, her eyes widened with affection.

"I _love_ horses!" she proclaimed.

"Then come with me," he commanded. "We will take a ride together."

"Let me put something else on."

His red eyes roamed her lissome form silhouetted inside the frail fabric of her white negligee and he shook his head.

"No," he was adamant on. "Do not dare to cover yourself from me. You are perfect the way you are. A vision of perfection."

"What if someone _sees_ us?"

"You never impressed on me that you care what others think. It should be what _I_ think that matters and you are exquisite. And I do not plan on keeping that gown on you for very long."

She smiled wickedly at his innuendo.

"Then help me out of the window," she instructed.

Grinning reticently at her, he wrapped one of his massive arms around her tiny waist and lifted her up and out through the window. Her bare feet scarcely touched the cool ground before he was raising her closer against his massive and warm frame like a powerfull movie monster thieving her away.

"Mmm!" she exclaimed sexily. "Can't say this is a _bad_ thing to wake up to."

"The night is still young and our horse awaits."

He hoisted her upon the blanket covering Goliath's saddle free back before swinging his own body up and over behind her, taking the reins in one hand and protectively embracing her waist with the other. As he directed the enormous Clydesdale back towards the vineyard, he slid up against Lisette's back to help warm her. It didn't take very long for the arm he had around her waist to slowly inch up her tight midsection and to her ample breasts. Her nipples pebbled from exposure to the chilly nocturnal air which sent thrills coursing through his body when he grazed his fingertips lightly over them.

"It's because I'm cold," she explained roguishly.

"Are you certain of that?" he inquired.

"What _else_ could it be from?" she continued playfully.

"When we reach our destination I have a place for them where they will be kept very warm," he promised.

"Is that so?"

Taking one of her nipples between his fingertips, he manipulated the hardened bit of flesh as he cupped her breast with his massive palm. Giggling, she leant back against him and he switched the attention from one nipple to the other. Finally tiring of the silk impeding his work, he positioned himself so that he could gain better access and reached down to push his hand underneath the negligee. As his calloused flesh touched her soft body she groaned and wiggled back against his burgeoning erection. His hand located her nipples again and continued his groping massage, tugging and twisting each nipple with confident abandon.

They were half way back to the vineyard when he opted to relinquish the sweet torture of his lover's breasts in favour of dipping lower, probing inside the lacy confines of her knickers and through the soft down of pubic hair in search of the little button of tender flesh he knew would drive her into frenzy. Intuitively she stretched her legs to part further, making it easier for him to locate what he wanted. When he found it she sucked air in through her teeth sharply and her body tensed.

"Just wait," he promised torridly in her ear. "This is nothing."

Her flesh responded desirously to his touch, slickening and becoming more tender than it already was naturally. She wriggled against him, rubbing her back against his stiff member as she grinded over his circling fingers.

"Mon dieu!" she cried, thrusting her hips up as best as she could.

Seizing the window of opportunity, he submerged his first two fingers deep inside her and she gasped while her body quivered. Her arm came around to encircle his neck, drawing him forward for a languid, fervid kiss, his fingers pumping into her wet orifice slowly and deliberately.

"I can't hold on much longer!" she wailed lustfully, eyes wide with arousal.

"Patience is a virtue," he murmured against her mouth. "It will be worth the wait."

"You are a bastard! This is torture, you realise!"

"And you believe it to be a _pleasant_ torture so take it without complaint."

She rocked her hips over his fingers, savouring every movement he made. The albino was so preoccupied with his erotic foreplay that he nearly allowed the horse to saunter passed the vineyard. He guided the animal onto the vineyard grounds, continuing up to the isolated fig tree where he often paid homage to his shame. Tonight would be the antipode of those other visitations and would be heralded as a fond remembrance to think of whenever he returned in the future.

Stopping the horse at the tree, he removed his pliant fingers from the woman's body, slid from the animal's back then helped her down. The lovers stood facing each other, carnal hunger protracted in their gazes. The albino took the blanket from the Clydesdale's broad back and spread it out across the grass while Lisette rapidly removed her interfering night clothes.

"An eager one, I see," he teased as he too began stripping.

"You have _no idea_ how eager," she warned.

"That sounds promising."

Reaching out, he took her hand and drew her flush against his body capturing her mouth with his. Her small hand wrapped around his manly thickness and began stroking his inches; he allowed her to take this liberty but only for a few blissfull moments before he pulled free of her grasp.

"Lie back," he instructed, his voice strained with need.

Without hesitation, the Olivia imitation did as she was told, opening her legs to wrap them around his waist. As promised, he lowered his head to her breasts, enclosing a nipple in his hot mouth. Her hands caressed the back of his head as he gluttonously suckled her; she angled her body so that her chest was pushed up more. His mouth trailled kisses from one nipple to the other where he repeated the attentive process as she moaned happily and situated her hips so that the tip of his manhood nudged at her entrance.

Wasting no time, he eased inside her half way before he needed to retract, pull her leg up to open her more then managed to be fully accommodated inside her body. She cried out from the pain of being relentlessly stretched around his girth and bit down on her lower lip to muffle the shout she wanted to make. Despite her experience as a prostitute, she'd never came across a man as endowed as the albino.

"Mon dieu, you shame the horse!" she declared, fighting the straight forward pounding he initiated that made her slide backwards on the blanket.

"You enjoy every inch of me," he acknowledged.

"If your Olivia _is_ a virgin you would have to coat her body in olive oil before you could fit inside her!"

Not caring to hear about Olivia at the moment, the albino shut her up with an impassioned kiss. Helpless beneath his weight, Lisette had no choice but to let him have his way with her. Being joined with him was painfull but the more he stroked inside her the more her body relaxed and succumbed to the pleasure he gave. Sex alfresco was very different from sex indoors as it allotted a particular quality of freedom: man and woman both as bare as the day they were born, performing the most primal and basic act known in the most natural of settings just as it was meant to be like. A woman prone on the grass, the man above her with only the sky at his back, her thighs spread apart, he between them and inside her, mating like the animals they were supposed to be.

He was rough, driving into her hard and fast, pinning her down at the wrists so she couldn't slide away every time he thrust into her. Out here in the secluded spot she was free to moan and scream as she saw fit. When he felt her tense and knew she was about to climax, he pounded her harder and faster, knocking the breath from her lungs. Gasping, she pressed her legs tighter against his sides during her orgasm but he was quick enough to pull her legs farther apart which subsequently opened her body more for him to thrust deeper, which in turn made her scream louder with unbridled pleasure. Her mind became numb from her climax and her body went limp like a rag doll's but he kept at her relentlessly for several more minutes before, with one final grunt, he plunged far inside her and emptied himself copiously.

Finished, he separated from her and stretched out on the blanket at her side. Shivering, she nestled against him and he embraced her, reached over and pulled the end of the blanket over them.

"What a pleasant thing to wake up for in the middle of the night," she said.

"You cannot come to the house like before, Lisette," he bluntly told her.

"Why not?"

"It is Olivia's home. I cannot disrespect her."

"Isn't this part of her property as well?"

"Yes, but it is on the outskirts, far enough away from the house and the vineyard. To my knowledge she does not come out this far. She will never see us."

"And you?"

"I come here for peace. To think. And to indulge."

Lisette smiled widely.

"And in what do you indulge?"

"In carnal appetites that I cannot indulge in while at home."

"Like sex with beautifull women?"

"Like anything of a sexual nature. Usually I am alone when I come here."

Lisette laughed.

"You come here to _masturbate_? Are you telling me that the shrew you live with won't allow even masturbation? Oh, yes, I forgot. It _is_ a sin."

"Olivia does not know. I would never allow her to find out. But it is not _her_ that I hide my actions from."

"No? Then from who?"

"She decorates every room with Christ figures and saints. I do not like their eyes. They place blame and they never look away."

"I believe it's long passed time for you to move on. Get away from what makes you feel guilt for doing what is natural."

"I cannot leave. I _will_ not leave."

"Why not? Because of her? I told you. I will be her if you want me to be."

"No. You can never be her. You can only be yourself as you should always be."

"I don't understand why you would persist to stay in such a place. I would've smashed all of that religious bullshit long ago if I were you."

"I cannot destroy Olivia's possessions. They are hers, not mine. I must respect her. She was generous enough to take me in without knowing anything about me. She is a good woman."

"Yes, and virtuous beyond human capability, don't you think?"

"There are so many horrible things in this world. When something that is truly good and pure shows itself it is impossible for one to believe in it."

"You honestly don't believe that she has such an angelic soul, do you?" Lisette scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"She is only human. Humans are born into sin, even Olivia's religion tells that. So I propose to you: what is Olivia's sin?"

"It is not for me to judge. She has shown me nothing but kindness. I cannot go against her."

"You may be right. I don't believe you are for one second but for some stupid reason, you, like every other man, believe the masks of virtue that some lamb of a woman wears, never believing she has a corrupt part somewhere inside her."

"You do not know her, Lisette. How can you say such things?"

"I don't need to know her to know her type."

"Please do not speak ill of her. I will not allow it."

Lisette sighed and the albino could feel her seething in anger. She huffed and twisted in his arms untill her back was turned to him. Dissent shrouded the brief moment of elation and this angered _him_. Lately he just could not seem to catch a break.

"Do not permit this to spoil the mood," he advised lightly. "I was having a wonderfull time. Why bring Olivia into things when mention of her name offends you?"

"You shouldn't allow her to control you like she does."

"She does not control me."

"Through her idols she does. You said it yourself that you come out here to escape them. I don't like seeing it. You should be your own person without sanctimonious outside influences."

"She found us the other day when you came to the vineyard. She is so upset with me that she has not spoken to me since. If I was concerned over how she sees me then why would I bring you here tonight?"

"Up here she can't see us. After telling me that I am no longer welcome at the vineyard."

He nestled down against her ear and murmured, "That is correct, chérie." He slid his hand below the blanket and between her legs, after that sweet swollen part of her anatomy again. She readily obliged to his search, making it easier for him to locate it. "We can do whatever we please here. She will be none the wiser to it."

Moaning, Lisette hooked her top leg back and over his, granting him simpler access to the area between her legs.

"You never get enough, do you, amour?" he questioned, a new erection hardening.

"How can I ever get enough of a bull like you?"

"You will tire before I do."

"Is that a challenge?"

Yanking her leg back so that they were better aligned, he impaled her completely in one swift and powerfull shove made easier by his already spilt seed which still leaked from her, robbing her of breath as he grinded into her.

"Let us put your endurance to the test," he suggested.

Wrapping his arms around her, he anchored her in place by her shoulders and began to ravage her again. She bucked back against him in her bliss but it screwed up his rhythm and frustrated him even though he knew she was only trying to be an active participant.

Rolling her slightly, he remedied her interference by pinning her to the ground on her belly and plunged into her body with brutal zeal. She whimpered beneath him in concurrent pain and pleasure but she took each thrust willingly.

"My little bitch in heat," he dubbed her in her ear. "Always ready for a man, impatient to mate."

He pounded Lisette with such force that her hips would certainly bruise by morning. But he didn't stop untill they were both spent and Lisette was nearly unconscious. This was a new experience for the albino, unfortunately for the prostitute, and he fully intended on making the most out of it. On and off throughout the night he kept at her. Sleep was merely a pause in activity to conserve energy for the next round and every time Lisette managed to fall asleep the randy albino was penetrating her for more.

When dawn began to break the night sky, he revived her from sleep one last time but rather than having another session of intercourse he told her to dress while he prepared Goliath for her return home. She slept secured in his arms during the trip; he steered the horse through the back roads to avoid the villagers' inquisitive eyes. It would be impossible to miss a hulking albino astride a giant Clydesdale with a nearly naked woman asleep in his arms and the probability of trouble awaiting them worried the young man.

By Olivia's god's good graces, however, they managed to remain unseen, helped her to prudently slip back through her bedroom window, giving her a peck on the lips as she ducked all the way back inside. Waiting for her to shut and lock the window behind her, he then began his long ride back to the vineyard.

----------------------------

Sunday morning came and went while Olivia did her errands in the village as the albino stayed in bed and slept the day away. While in town the lady of the vineyard sensed a blanket of unease in the constant stare of the villagers and she was frustrated at them. Why they were behaving in such a way she did not know but it made her uncomfortable.

Upon returning to the vineyard that evening, she went out for a walk through the grounds but when she entered the house it was to a desolation that was worse than if it had been empty. But the house _wasn't_ empty; somewhere in its dark walls was a man who believed himself to be a ghost. Yet all she heard besides her own footsteps across the floor was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the lounge as she walked into the room. To her relief he was not there so she decided to sit and relax for a while in her favourite chair with a random book. Selecting _Great_ _Expectations_, a book she hadn't touched since she was a child, she seated herself in the chair, snapping on the lamp next to it.

After the fifth page turned but nothing was actually read, she gave up and simply stared blankly at the open book. Visions of the albino with that specious woman continually fell before her eyes, interrupting her reading enjoyment and making her grow angry. What did she expect? She only had herself to blame. He was a street urchin, taken under her wing out of the naïve goodness of her heart. Untouched by the love of family or friends, how did she expect him to behave when he was at last accepted by someone who was genuinely good? The person she wanted him to be was a mere chimera, potential which was impossible to be fulfilled by _any_ man let alone a misused albino.

Almost an hour passed before she heard shuffling and, looking up from her reading, she watched him emerge from the darkness like the spectre he purported to be. Dropping her eyes back down to the book, she gazed at him askance but made an effort to not pay him mind. He took his usual designated place but rather than choosing a book of his own to read he focused his eyes on her. For a while she was able to ignore him but after a few moments passed she shut her book, peered up at him and asked shortly, "What?"

"Bonsoir, Olivia. We must talk. I do not like this silence that has fallen between us. It is uncomfortable."

"So was finding you with that…"

She stopped herself hastily, knowing that she was about to say something she would not be able to take back then would later regret. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gathered her composure before continuing.

"It is none of my business what you do in your private spare time," she told him, "but what you do on these grounds affects me and my business. As a matter of fact, I was hoping that you would show some sort of common sense and make better judgements about the company you keep."

"The company I keep?"

"That woman…"

"Is a friend."

"Is _more_ than a friend. You can't make excuses for what I saw you doing with her. It was self explanatory."

He remained tacit, waiting for her to have her say before he said his.

"I don't care if you have…friends," she said through gritted teeth. "But you need to be responsible. She was here during work hours. Étienne could've been seriously hurt and you weren't there doing your job. You were off somewhere with _her_ groping each other."

"I am at fault, Olivia, I do not deny that. I am sorry for my disobedience. I wish to have the opportunity to absolve my sins. I will do anything."

She glared at him with heated anger, wanting to slap him as hard as she could across his face and see if a red handprint would form on his pale flesh, wanting to scream at him, wanting to tell him to leave. A rampage was called for, perhaps a broken finger or two – she preferred the fingers she watched touch the woman's thigh.

"I can't tell you who to share your time with, but your dalliances will cost this vineyard dearly if the villagers tell negative rumours. This vineyard has been in my family for generations and a developing bad reputation can destroy everything they've built. I can't allow that to happen. Do you understand that?"

He bowed his head solemnly, feelling guiltier by the syllable.

"Oui. I understand."

"Good. Then I trust you will not only keep her from this property but you will take care as to who in the village sees you with her. Or, more importantly, take care as to who sees you take your liberties with her."

"Of course. I promise to do so."

"Good. I trust that you will." Olivia offered him an awkward smile. "If you don't believe me to be prying, might I ask you her name?"

"Why would you wish to know?"

"Never mind. It's your private affair, I understand. However, I was hoping to know it so should I ever formally be introduced to her I can address her properly."

"Her name is Lisette."

Olivia cocked her eye brow in what could only be termed as pure shock.

"Lisette?" she repeated.

"Oui."

"And, might I ask how you met your…Lisette?"

"Through a mutual friend, chérie."

Olivia tried to swallow the painfull knot of disbelief that formed at the centre of her throat.

"Laroux," answered the albino.

"Étienne?"

The albino nodded affirmation.

Olivia wanted to burst into tears and struggled desperately to maintain her composure. How could her beloved friend do this to her after all she'd done for him, after all she'd confided in him about?

"Olivia?" the albino called softly, worry punctuating his voice. "What is wrong?"

"Lisette is her name, you say?"

"Oui. But I am so sorry, Olivia. I do not understand the relevance."

"You honestly _don't_ know? He never bothered to tell you?"

The albino shook his head and asked, "Tell me what?"

The expression on Olivia's face was an indelible mark of hurt and disgust. Her next few words explicated everything in a staggering way.

"Lisette is Étienne's sister."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Ainsi le diable à une soeur," the great albino muttered so quietly that Olivia barely heard him.

"It seems that he does," she assented.

"How did you not recognise her when she was here?"

"I knew Étienne had a sister but I hadn't seen her since we were children. She was a problem child and sent away to live with relatives in Paris. Strange that Étienne never told me that she returned home."

"What are we going to do?"

Olivia's shoulders dropped.

"I don't know," she confessed. "He's my friend. Or at least I _thought_ he was."

Her statement befuddled the albino. "What do you mean?"

Olivia shook her head.

"He'll know what it means when we discuss it with him tomorrow. I won't leave you in the dark, I will let you know everything."

"I do not mean to bring trouble to you, Olivia. It was not my intent to be a wedge between you and an old friend."

"No, please don't think that you're at fault. Étienne is to blame all on his own for this one. Why don't you retire for the night and we will continue this discussion tomorrow?"

"I fear I will not sleep all night."

She smiled then suggested, "Then by all means, take a book and read. I have a feeling we won't get much work done tomorrow."

He solemnly nodded, plucked a few books from the shelves because they were shorter in length and headed towards his room when she called his name, stopping him. Tentative, Olivia approached, turned him to face her and wrapped her arms around him. Inexperienced with real affection, he did not respond, nor did she expect him to. His body stiffened under her touch; she couldn't help but pity him through the unrequited gesture.

"Good night," she whispered, releasing him.

"Bonne nuit, Olivia."

She stepped back and let him pass, to fade away again into the darkness. She knew that she too would be sleepless, kept awake by her best friend's treachery.

Time was at a standstill for the whole of the night as Olivia sat up in bed, rehearsing her thoughts and arranging them in the particular order she wanted them repeated in to Étienne upon his arrival. Occasionally the albino surfaced in her mind and she wondered if he was awake sharing her rage or if he was sound asleep without a second thought of the problem, despite his original proclamation.

Why would _he_ be upset? It wasn't as if Étienne actually wronged _him_. _He_ was benefiting from the back stabbing, running amok with that whore. Her blood boilled with misdirected ferocity and she wanted to storm into his bedroom just to smack him hard across the face. If she wasn't entitled to rouse the same type of reaction that Lisette merited then she demanded to receive other attentions from him, even if it was in the negative stance. _Damn him! Damn Étienne!_ Life hadn't been the same since she invited the albino to live with her. Who invited him to come and wreck havoc on her happy existence?

She did, of course.

Flipping on her side, she peered at the Christ figurine displayed on the nightstand beside her bed for moral support. For a long while she vapidly stared at it, her mind at last emptied of thought. Deficiency of thought was bliss and she could only hope that it soothed her long enough for her to fall asleep. What was frustrating about this moment was her tiredness and how badly wanted to sleep so her wits would be sharp come morning. How was she going to be able to nail him with everything she wanted to if she couldn't concentrate long enough to remember the details?

That was why the points were reviewed over and over again in her head. She wanted to get the altercation out of the way immediately; then and only then would she be able to sleep soundly. Dawn lightened the sky an hour later but instead of making her drowsy, it perked her up with anticipation. It was almost time. Étienne should be on his way to the vineyard at this very moment.

Having a change of heart, Olivia decided that she would conduct the matter privately. The albino could sleep a little longer this morning so things she wanted him to momentarily remain in the dark about could be discreetly mentioned to her traitorous friend. Breakfast was an ideal preoccupation of mind while she waited, a breakfast Étienne was not welcome to partake in. It would be enough only for two: herself and her albino. Étienne could go to Hell.

When she conceded defeat in her battle with sleep, she wrapped herself in her robe and left for the kitchen.

Sleep was a mercy that excluded the vineyard that night. The albino, too, had difficulty falling asleep, only his thoughts were different on the subject. Discomfort beset his ability to lie still and every move to get cosy was hindered by something. The blankets were too tight around his throat, he was too hot with them on, too cold with them off, the muscles of his neck weren't relaxed enough and would that damned spring _please_ get out of his back?

Surrendering hope that it would, he snatched a pillow and stretched out across the rug on the floor, taking one of the books from the lounge with him. Things felt better already. The selection he held in his gigantic hand was _The Invisible Man_ by H.G. Wells and, to his elated delight, not long into the pages did he learn that the eponymous character was an albino. Intrigued by the story about someone he could identify with, he read straight through. Closing the book and placing it on the floor beside him, he pondered the meaning behind the tale. Often the affliction he shared with the protagonist made him wish that he was invisible too. That desire was compounded by his father's defamatory label of ghost. Was this why Griffin the scientist strove so arduously to bend light and achieve invisibility? Did he too wish himself invisible because of his spectral skin? Did he have someone like a parent snarling the word ghost at him who made him desire invisibility? The albino rubbed his sore eyes and groaned, wishing he had a vial of Griffin's serum for the morning.

Sighing, his eyes found the window and the night sky beyond its glass. Straight away, the stars were focused on and he wondered if Olivia's god was peering back down at him.

A prayer for tomorrow's outcome was in order but it dammed in his throat, obstinate to spill out. Unregenerate, he instead resorted to a childish rhyme his mother often recited while he sat upon her lap and pointed to the stars: _Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…_

He rolled over on his side so he no longer had to see them. If Olivia's God wanted to be a voyeur and stare back, he had no problem with it. Other troubles were at the forefront of his concern. Olivia guaranteed he had no reason to fear yet he could not help but to. Worry was the vortex of a tornado that sucked you up inside no matter how far removed you was from its destruction. What would happen tomorrow, he did not know. But the confrontation between his rival and the object of their affection could be disastrous for him. He stood to lose far more than the other man: his job, his home, his sanctuary, Olivia were things that could be lost to Étienne as well but for the albino, confidence, security, peace, happiness, acceptance and the only friend he ever had were imperiled. Drive him from the vineyard and its dear owner and he'd be driven from the very things that gave him purpose to live.

How could he survive after this experience if he was expected to leave it behind? There couldn't possibly be any going back from it. Forsaken, he would lie down in the street somewhere and die. Eviction from what gave him life would beget eviction from life itself. He wouldn't eat, drink, sleep or fend off the elements or any attack by animal or human. He would just let himself die, blotted out like an insignificant star that got swallowed by a black hole. Existence would be too abyssal to bear now that he knew life had a good side. Reversion to what he left behind was objectionable.

A part of him planned to give up, to leave through the window, never look back at what might have been and carry out his suicide. Olivia could never protest if he slipped away without her knowledge. Why should she complain? He wasn't her whole world as she was his. She could easily live life without him. It would simply return to normal for her. Remove him from her, from this Eden, and he would wither away. How was life worth living if he was separated from what kept him alive?

With difficulty, he curled up into himself tightly and closed his eyes, trying to lull himself to sleep with the sound of the crickets outside his window.

Glare from the morning sun was harsh to his vulnerable eyes when they flickered open a few hours later. He hadn't even been aware that he'd fallen asleep. What he initially thought were hunger pains pestered him with a sharp ache in his stomach but immediately he realised that it was strained nerves upsetting him. Worse, his bladder ached and he held his breath to fend off the nagging sensation, too tired from an endless night to want to move. Once again he considered optioning to run away and felt his muscles twitch in effort to pull him in the direction of the window but a heavy, lethargic sigh kept him in place. He'd come this far. He was a changed man because of Olivia and he was _not_ going to run from his troubles any more. He'd run from adversity his entire life and now was the perfect time to stand and fight for not just what he wanted but for what he deserved.

The sudden sound of water spraying from the bathroom hit him like a hammer, agitating his bladder further. He groaned. Olivia was awake! The time to judge his fate was nigh!

_Veuillez laisser cette extrémité!_

What exactly he wanted to please end could have been interpreted several ways. Would the tension of the morning finally pass so that his fate was known? Would the interference of Étienne Laroux cease, banishing the devious and esurient childhood friend forever? Would Olivia please get out of the shower so he could relieve his bladder?

As if a genie heard his wish, it was granted when the water shut off. Not a muscle was moved and sleep was feigned while he waited to hear her leave the bathroom altogether. First there was the creak of the door when it opened then the soft steps of bare feet across the hardwood floor that stopped directly outside his bedroom door. She wanted to enter, he sensed, but knew she would walk away, either out of nervous fear or profound respect. A few moments of lingering hesitation and his prediction came true: the shadow beneath the door shuffled in the direction of her bedroom farther up the hall.

He sighed respite and sprang nimbly to his feet, his ability to fully stand hindered by the pressing need to urinate. Impatiently awaiting the soft sound of her door shutting to reach his ears, he finally charged from his own room and into the bathroom with great discretion, putting the door between him and any eyes. He did not want her to know he was awake yet. After he relieved his bladder, a percentage of the physical strain on his muscles slackened. He closed his eyes to relish the sensation but it did not last when Laroux's voice called for Olivia from the depths of the house.

The moment was here.

Thinking quickly, the albino hastily turned on the shower, hoping to forfend against Olivia's acknowledgment, perforce she wanted to briefly speak with him before meeting her friend. But she didn't. Perhaps in hearing the shower, she chose to allot him privacy and go headlong into battle. Successfull in avoidance, he decided to follow through with the shower, stalling for time with his preparations for the day. Lathering his pallid body, he enjoyed the cool water versus the humidity of the French morning. Water rivulets caressed his tension away as they trickled down the grooves of his muscles, hugging against them and dripping from his sharp masculine angles. The soap was rinsed off quickly but he stayed beneath the water, eyes shut as it poured over his face.

His guilty conscience veered to how Olivia might have been faring with the confrontation with Laroux. What if she was waiting for his appearance? What if she needed him? Not wanting to leave the shower, he shut it off and dried himself, realising then that in his haste he hadn't brought any clothing along and swore at the misfortune in his native tongue. Wrapping the towel securely around his waist, he ventured back toward his room.

In the hallway he took a brief pause, listening for any wafting bits of conversation or heated argument that could clue him in on what he was preparing to walk into but heard nothing. Disappointed with new tension mounting, he dodged into his room and shut the door softly before Olivia or Laroux perchance wandered down the hallway and happened upon him. He took his time in dressing, wavering after each leg slid into the jeans and each arm slipped into the shirt. Finished, he once again strained to overhear anything from the other rooms of the house but to no avail.

_What is going on?_ he wondered.

It was now or never. The last thing he wanted was to instil within her that he was a coward. Besides, his troubles were overdue to be met head-on. Filled with gloomy presentiment, he opened the door, the creak of the hinge louder than thunder in his ears as it echoed down the hall, announcing him to the house. On bare feet he padded towards the main section of the house, wary and listening intently. But they weren't in the kitchen as he had anticipated, nor were they in the lounge. An unsettling silence darkened the homestead front.

_Where _are_ you, Olivia?_

His heart wrenched worse than it had since his mother's death. He was deserted! Perhaps that was Olivia's plan all along! Not to face Laroux but to secretly escape with him, leaving behind the godforsaken wraithlike abomination and the vineyard for greener pastures of normalcy. A sinking feeling made him want to vomit. He just _knew_ it! Laroux confessed his undying love for her and she accepted his proposal.

The bodily discrepancy with which he commiserated in with the Wells' character made him lose in life again. Anger pulsated through his veins and poisoned his hope with malice that, for lack of another victim, he wanted to take out on himself. A butcher knife lay on the carving board in the kitchen that he was tempted to use to flay the offensive flesh from his bones. If she vacated the vineyard she loved so much, land she'd inherited from her dead parents, in favour of her unfriendly friend then what did that say about her character? Evidently she was not the angel he had believed her to be. Of all the disappointments he'd suffered throughout his lifetime, this was the worst. He thought love had finally graced him but he should have known better. Angels were incompatible with ghosts; they always fell for demons.

Heart withered, he trudged toward the front door in search of further evidence that she was gone. Halting short when he heard Olivia's voice, his heart and spirit were revived by terrified thumps that hurt his chest. Ducking to place himself flat against the wall, he listened to her angry words caught in mid-sentence.

"…what you're telling me, Étienne, after all I've…"

"But Olivia, you're being irrational! Listen to me! Just for a moment, _please_! Don't you think what I have to say is important?"

"Not any more, I don't."

"I believe my sense is far more substantive than yours, I'm sorry to say. You and I have known each other our entire lives and it is not like you to think in a way that will jeopardise your family's vineyard. I have only the best interests at heart, for the property, for the business and for _you_!"

"Please don't use me as an excuse to attack someone else!"

"What? That unholy _thing_,that_ fantôme_? Olivia, you can't be serious! Your parents, your grandparents, they've worked so hard to make this vineyard thrive and you would risk _that_?"

"My parents believed in giving unlikely people the benefit of the doubt and a second chance. Everyone else turns away from him, why should I stoop as low as they?"

The albino swooned with pure elation when he understood what was taking place. _Olivia was _defending_ him!_

"He will tear you down, Olivia. The villagers, they are already talking among themselves about you and him!"

"Let them talk! They have a right to do so!"

"You must rid yourself of him, despite your feelings! You cannot let this romantic fantasy sweep you away! Too much is at stake!"

Olivia took a moment to weigh what she should say next. The albino had confidence that this time she was smart enough to at last to see the inimical façade her life long friend belied.

"How _could_ you, Étienne?" she questioned in a stern tone. "Can it be that a friend I've known for as long as I've been alive be capable of such cruelty? You were my _confidante_, you knew _everything_. And I was foolish enough to hand you the weapon against me. You knew precisely where to strike to hurt me most. How could you be capable of such betrayal against one you claim to love?"

"It's out of concern for your best interests."

"It's out of _jealousy_!"

The frustrated Laroux began to pace the length of the porch when he stopped alongside the window and peered inside. The albino's the breath was squeezed from his lungs. Did Laroux spot him through the lacy curtains? A pale body was severe contrast in the darkness of a room. That lesson was learnt when he was a child. Where was that invisibility formula or at least the transparency of a real ghost? He couldn't move or else it was certain he'd be discovered. The expression on Laroux's handsome face worried him, the brow furrowing and eyes narrowing after a brief second of revelation. He _had_ to have noticed him, he couldn't be missed!

"This is nonsense, Olivia," he at last retorted, turning from the window. "Our parents had always wished for our union. Imagine what could be done if it came to fruition. I love you deeply and I always have. You have always known. Right here, in your heart. That demon in the house is no good for you. It's not human, cher. It isn't even wanted in the village. If you look inside yourself you will discover that what you feel isn't love for it, but sympathy. You feel sorry for the miserable wretch. I know your heart is in the right place and your desire to improve its life is genuine but your affection is misplaced. Your sensitive heart has found novelty in its love for the fantôme. When that novelty wears off, and it will, you will regret your preference."

"Once I believed you held my best interests at heart. I honestly believe that. But not any more. Your aired treachery proved otherwise. It saddens me that I've lost a precious friend but I suspect I've already lost him long before today."

"Whatever are you saying?"

"You know the answer to that. I want you to vacate the premises immediately and never return. Our friendship is over."

The demeanour of the old friend took a drastic, desperate change. A hand lashed out to grab Olivia roughly by the arm, making her cry out and startling the taciturn albino into action. No thoughts in his head other than protecting Olivia, the albino, trembling in rage, swung the door open wide, strode out onto the porch and forcibly seized Laroux's clamped fingers from Olivia's person as he separated the attacker's direct path to the victim with his imposing bulk. Rather than freeing the offender, he held Laroux by the wrist in a bone-crushing grip for the pleasure of showing him what it felt like to be manhandled. Laroux glared into the albino's red eyes with repulsion that disfigured his handsome face. If ever there was a time that he lived up to his father's moniker ghost with the eyes of the devil, it was now. Those eyes, usually filled to capacity with timidness and unspoken love for his lady, were now afire with demonic bloodlust. When Laroux issued his invidious threat, it was to Olivia rather than to her protector.

"You are _insane_! That thing will ruin you and everything you love! It is the devil and you gave it access to your sympathetic heart! You will regret it, Olivia! Mark my words!"

"Let him go," she instructed the albino who readily obliged, keeping between the combatants as Laroux left the porch.

They watched him, fuming as he left so that it seemed like smoke billowed above his head, untill he could no longer be seen, vanished beneath the horizon of trees and grape vines. Only then did the albino turn to the proprietor of the estate and his heart to check her, examining her arm for bruises and cuts while asking if she was all right.

"I'm fine," she assured. "Just a little shaken. Nothing broken."

"Why did you not wait for me before you confronted him? I never would have allowed him to touch you."

"I know. I'm sorry, I tend to be fiercely independent. I loathe asking for help, even if I need it. My parents taught me self-reliance and I lean towards that principle even if it's detrimental."

His eyes, less hellish and more romantic, reflected that he was not quite sure whether or not to believe her. She'd banished her best friend since childhood from the rest of her life and as far as he could tell he was the reason. He was confused about whether he should be gratefull or ecstatic. Perhaps, he decided, he was a mixture of both. It was short-lived, however. Horror snuck into with the sudden occurring thought that, in all probability, Laroux was not finished with them yet. A surge of domineering protectiveness filled him with plots on how to counteract any move Laroux made just to keep Olivia safe. He didn't care about himself; Olivia was the important one.

The sound of the name she had given him on the first day of his arrival jolted him from his sombre reverie when it was uttered from her lovely slender throat.

"Why don't we sit in the lounge for a bit?" she suggested. "I have something I need to discuss with you."

He nodded in accordance and followed her into the house. She told him to go into the room and wait for her while she freshened in the bathroom. He obeyed her order, taking his usual place, his eyes trained out the window in search of a prowling Laroux. He did not trust the bastard as far as he could throw him.

Then his mind erratically shifted to his other concern. He wondered what Olivia wanted to talk about. There couldn't be anything he had to worry over after all or she would've mentioned it outside. Unless she wanted to cool her temper before dropping another bomb on the lone male in the house. It would be stupid of her to oust him and deal with Laroux's threats on her own and that would be his campaign to stay.

Olivia returned, breaking his concentration by walking into his eye line, taking her usual place across from him. Sighing, she locked her eyes with his.

"Why do you think I got rid of Étienne?" she began. "Why I consider what he did a betrayal?"

"I have an idea but I do not know the whole story. I suspect it has something to do with Lisette. I do not know how he might have used her to betray you but I am aware of your reaction after learning he introduced me to her."

"It does. But not likely what you think."

He blinked and shook his head.

"Forgive me, I am confused…"

"Why do you think he introduced you to Lisette?"

Aghast, his eyes gaped at her, disbelieving that she should ask something so obvious yet so private.

"Mon dieu, cher ami! I suppose he took pity on me and wanted to alleviate my loneliness. He said I would never have a chance with…"

Olivia's eye brow arched, waiting for him to complete a sentence he was unwilling to finish. When his hesitation was clear, she prodded, "Never have a chance with what?"

He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, eyes dropped to the floor as he replied, "With nothing, Olivia, please forget that I said anything. It _is_ for the best."

There was a hint of secret meaning behind the words, that they weren't spoken only for the sake of dropping the topic. Was he agreeing with Laroux that he as a person should be forgotten?

"Don't you trust me?" She opted for the gentle approach, expecting it would fare her better than the heated aggression she displayed with Étienne.

"I trust you exclusively."

"Then tell me."

His hesitation reminded her of a horse that refused to exit a fiery barn. To prove she was trustworthy, she placed herself before him on the floor, taking his pale hand into hers. Her touch made him acutely conscious that his palms were sweaty, indicating he was uneasy.

"Tell me," she coaxed, her words barely there.

"He said that I would never have a chance with _you_."

The outted secret offered him unexpected reprieve but it was short-lived when he had the courage to look upon her face. He was obliterated. He would have to leave. Even if she wanted him to stay and be friends his admission would never allow him to. The compassion sparkling in her eyes burnt him like hellfire. Too proud for sympathy, he was tempted to walk away but fought the urge because her softened features rendered it impossible to leave. The emotional cathexis the albino fed on from her was unbreakable. He loved her far too much to leave her at the mercy of the wolf that had recently slinked away. Laroux would return, unwanted, and the albino wanted to be here when he did.

"See?" she all but whispered. "Étienne's mythomania had us both fooled. He wasn't being a friend to you, nor was he being one to me. The deceitfull little _snake_!"

The albino's expression proved to her that he hadn't a clue about what she meant.

_Explain yourself, Olivia!_ she thought. _He doesn't know what's happened!_

"Sweetheart, if Étienne was a _true_ friend looking out for our best interests as he argued, he would have _never_ sent you to Lisette."

His confusion deepened.

"Why not?"

"Because." Her eyes shut briefly as she took a moment then a deep breath. "Because…"

Unable to spit the words out, her arms encircled his neck, bringing him down for her lips to press first sheepishly then earnestly against his. Numb with a riot of emotions, the great albino turned into the statue masterpiece she imagined him to be, immobile by indecisive fear. Withdrawing from him, she smiled with a school teacher's patience and brushed her fingertip across his well-defined cheekbone, hoping that the physical action was enough to get her meaning across. When it didn't quite register to him, she mustered her courage to explain.

"Because Étienne knew that to cure your loneliness all he needed to do was tell you what I told him: that I love you."

The albino still sat inert, trying to fathom that what he believed to be impossible was actually true. A woman, beautifull and kind, who he'd fallen in love with wanted to reciprocate the affection. Was this moment too good to be true? He was afraid to move, to blink, to breathe or else the fragile moment would vanish like a mirage to unveil a harsh reality. She didn't love him! She was playing a cruel game with him! Perhaps she was in on Laroux's scheme. If something was too good to be true, it was. The only person to have ever loved him was his mother. After her, no-one else and certainly not any pretty women he took an interest in.

In effort to dispel his concern that her affection was fictitious, she forced him to look at her and murmured: "We''ve waited long and have been through enough." Bending forward, closer to the shell of his ear so that her breath lightly tickled him, she plainly murmured: "I want you to take me to my room and make love to me."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note (Please Read First!):** First and foremost, I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Friday 13th! This is my gift for you on this bizarre holiday of sorts: the 13th chapter of _Haunting a Ghost_ (which, in a spooky twist of fate, comprised of 13 pages in the Word document). Is Friday the 13th truly riddled with bad luck? After all, you now have this 13th chapter of your favourite fan fic before your impatient eyes. What's more, as promised, it is the long awaited chapter in which a certain love is consummated.

But before you jump ahead eagerly, you must know that there is always bad with the good (bad, depending on point of view). Firstly, almost all the dialogue in this chapter is in French. Personally, I like keeping translations out of the story because not knowing is part of the story's charm. However, since this particular chapter has a great deal of it, I decided to include the translations at the end as a thank-you gift for your patience in sticking with this story over the years I've been penning it. Since there are several, I recommend that you either print them out or find some way to keep them handy so that you can look at them without scrolling to the very end (you have been forewarned, please do not complain!). Secondly, even though I try very hard, I am embarrassed to say that my French is atrocious so if you catch anything wrong – and I'm positive there will be many things – feel free to work with me in correcting it (PMing me about it is preferred rather than leaving it in a scathing review). And, lastly, this is a toned down R-rated version of the X-rated chapter I originally wrote. I tried to slightly reword things to maintain a level of smuttiness to keep the discriminating smut fan entertained and somewhat pleased. The uncensored X-rated version will be included in a pdf I'm putting together which I will make available after the conclusion of this story is written and posted. That's it for now! Hope it was worth the wait!

Chapter 13

"Mon dieu, Olivia! You cannot want this with _me_!"

Unconvinced she meant what she had just requested of him and disarmed by its spontaneity, the albino rose from the chair and strode across the room, seeking a reply for what was ineffable. Past experience screamed that he proceed with caution, ignoring the green light his love-starved soul gave him. Speech rejected his tongue's intention to speak for several long, unbelievable minutes before he turned back to face her where she reclined on the floor, leaning against his empty chair the way the heroine in a romance novel would pose on the cover: anxious, eager and ready. Appetite for her punished him to look at her and when he finally spoke, those were the words that came forth: that she can't want him.

Her retort was simple: "Why can't I?"

The words remained frozen in his throat as he gazed at her, dejected and concurrently flabbergasted.

"_Look_ at me, mon ami! I am a perversion of nature! What hope do you have of a normal life with my defect?"

"I don't see _any_ defects in you. Your only ugliness is your lack of confidence. Your physical beauty is flawless."

Impenetrable to logic, he countered, "I cannot allow you to defile yourself in this way with me."

"You made love to Lisette!"

Quietly but firmly: "What I did with Lisette was not making love."

The albino had never experienced real lovemaking before, it was true. It was difficult finding anyone who didn't find him repellant enough to interact with him, it was impossible finding a woman who wasn't disgusted enough to touch him. He wasn't necessarily trying to give Olivia a hard time, he was just searching for sense in why she would think of him in a different light. It was a mortal wound to him because with a lifetime of hardship and being black listed from society, it was the good things that hurt most.

"Are you not saving yourself for marriage?" he reasoned, trying to persuade her that any want of him was lunacy. "Is that not what your religion instructs you to do?"

"In every heart there's room for a little syncretism, don't you think? We are both decent people. Maybe God can turn His head just this once for us."

"Then you are not bothered by my appearance? That I am a ghost with the eyes of a devil? You could live a happy, normal life with Étienne and I will liberate you from the guilt you may feel for not wanting me. You are not obligated to be with me just because you pity me."

Before he could argue further, she was across the room, throwing herself into his arms. Their bodies met and his entire musculature tensed when she held herself against him, professing, "If I wanted Étienne I would've never told him to leave! Too much valuable time is wasted on what society deems normal. What the hell is normal any way? Doesn't it change radically over the course of time?"

Both trembled with heated longing, one denied, the other untethered, neither experienced enough to know precisely how to assuage the dreadfull suspense. Her supple breasts heaved with anticipation over his bulging pectorals, antagonising the torment that he tried to pull free of. But she held fast to what she wanted, obstinate in not letting go. Not this time. Riveted in place, staring into each other's eyes for an eternal moment, she firmly took his enormous hand into hers and stepped back towards the hallway. Impassive and no longer in control, her silent beckon coaxed him forward and when she stepped back a second time he relented, permitting her to navigate him into the frankincense scented master suite similar to how she would lead a shy Goliath from the barn.

Here he struggled to look everywhere but at the saint in front of him who was aflush an excited rosy colour he would never have no matter how aroused he was. One thing he had that she didn't tightened his inseam upon witnessing how alive and sensual she appeared with the bed behind her.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered. "I'll be afraid for us both. Do what comes natural to you. I'm yours and we have all day."

He shivered and slightly nodded, mesmerised by the intensity of what was unfolding. His heart palpitated so furiously that he knew she felt it as if they shared the organ. A disembodied sensation swallowed him, like the night the angel visited, and he wondered if this was how a pagan man felt when he found his visionary release amidst the sweaty thighs of an oracle. His lusting eyes prowling her feminine form, he also wondered whether or not a similar experience would befall him with Olivia.

In an epiphany, he grew conscious of the fact that he had stopped thinking of Olivia as a virginal madonna, a guardian angel, or anything other than what she was at her most base: a woman. A woman who, like him, was a human animal whose predominant needs and wants matched those of all other animals. Furthermore, he saw the woman in her yielding to the ancient call to mate; not necessarily to procreate but to claim a companion in the rawest, most intimate way possible. Access to this sacred, secret chamber was limited to only privileged men for the performance of these primal rites of nature. Any other time the holy shrine of her bedroom would be unapproachable by him; he would never have the courage to enter of his own volition. Unthought of was this being chosen to share with her the experience every man wanted with an attractive woman! Blessed was he to be there to answer her primitive call, to mark his new territory and declare to challengers like Laroux that she belonged to him!

Connected to him by an ensorcelled gaze, she unfastened the series of buttons down the front of her blouse. Breathless and immobile, he watched with eagerness that mounted with his arousal. She was _gorgeous_! The blouse did not deter his attention when it dropped to the floor, for other more precious sights awaited when she reached back to unhook the bra, discarding it with a casual toss over the dainty curve of her shoulder, shrugging off her modesty. Her breasts, a perfect handfull for him, were high and perky with youth. The expectant nipples, a becoming dusky rose colour, raised and his mouth, cotton dry untill then, watered with the inherent want to suckle them.

Beyond the willingness to display her half nude form, he denoted a stroke of humiliation painted across her face though she struggled to appear otherwise. It matched the blush of morning outside the window yet was far more appealling. The dawn was second hand beauty compared with the private viewing Olivia was giving him.

But then in a sudden moment of clarity, her inhibitions returned as if she'd snapped out of hypnotism and was aware of her actions. Arms shot up to cover her chest, she slightly turned from him, cruelly depriving him of the view he'd waited months to see. Was she changing her mind? Now was the time for him to act before the moment passed. Closing the gap between them with a single forward step, he reached out for her and tugged her closer. The movement brought a gasp of fear from her that she was shocked by. Why should she be surprised that he wanted to collect on the offer she originally presented him with? A fraction of doubt or hesitation in a modest, inexperienced female only ignited the passion deeper in the male.

The shirt he'd donned not an hour ago was haphazardly flung into a corner and he drew her closer still untill warm, naked flesh was against warm, naked flesh, removing her arms from in front of her breasts and wrapping them around him, awakening her body entirely. Cupping her face in his hand, he raised it for a kiss that sent an ache throughout her body. Her squirming form went rigid after her hand grazed over his hardened manhood while he pulled her arm down. Sensing her reaction, he proved that the mistake was a welcomed gesture by firmly holding her hand over the most male part of him, hardened by desire for her. Societal and religious conditioning nearly made her retract but natural instinct anchored her, the cause of his hardness the effect of her wetness.

_Is this wrong?_ her Christian guilt wondered. _Am I taking advantage of him? Will I really burn for all eternity over a simple act of love?_

The light inch of his finger tips up her spine evaporated that sceptical idea. Head tilted back, she moaned, shivering. He felt fantastic and he hadn't done anything yet! Cradling the base of her skull in the palm of his massive hand, a hand capable of crushing her skull like a grape yet was as cautious as if handling glass, he leant forward to bestow upon her a kiss so deep and lascivious that it felt like he was drinking from her. She marvelled at how that hand was capable of crushing her skull like a grape yet was as cautious as if he was handling glass. An approving moan rattled her throat and when he stood her upright again she realised that her hand was still where he placed it: over the bulge of his swollen sex. Undecided fingers stroked him through the fabric of his jeans, slowly at first untill he emitted the most erotic moan she had ever heard, sweetened by her love for him. Inspired, she added pressure, increasing the friction before he clutched her wrist. Startled by his impassioned strength, she peered at him with a wounded expression that softened when she noticed his crimson eyes blazing with impassioned bonfire.

Action over words had always been the albino's preference so he steered her hand down his washboard stomach, into the front of his jeans and to his waiting engorged organ. Her fingers wrapped around the extraordinary girth and length she had hoped would be there, not quite able to meet again once he was in her grasp. Discovery that she was not disappointed elevated her spirits, her fascination with his body and smouldering impatience to join with him. She slid her firm grip up and down over his erection in a masturbatory re-enactment of what he did to himself in her busy imagination.

_Incredible!_ she thought, seeking to feel every inch of him. Her free hand opened his jeans, meeting no simple feat in tugging them down with the other hand occupied. Lucidity slashed through his ecstatic haze long enough for him to help her with the task. After he stepped out of the very unnecessary clothing, she released her grip on his cock to stand back and drink in his arresting visage, an art connoisseur admiring a priceless sculpture in a museum. But this wasn't cold marble beyond her reach on the opposite side of a velvet rope; it was hot flesh permissible for her to touch. Anyone who considered him repellent because of a disparity in skin pigmentation was at a sorry loss and deserved to have their eyes gouged from their sockets for not appreciating his perfection. Her ungoverned sight crawled over every inch of the chiselled masculine grandeur but the forthrightness of her stare drained all prior confidence from him and, mimicking her shame moments ago, he fidgeted nervously.

"Tu enlevez mon souffle!" she sighed. "Tu m'excites tant, mon amour! Je te veux vraiment!"

The compliment did nothing to resolve his fear, signified by a mutter of the word that haunted him throughout the course of his brief life: "Fantôme…"

"Pas dans mes yeux."

Without breaking eye contact, she finished undressing herself then stood in front of him: Eve to his Adam, bare before each other, translucent from any concealment and acquainting their flesh with the irresolution of a couple on the precipice of becoming lovers. Her complete nakedness calibrated his worries while he returned her wanton stare, spellbound by those womanly endowments he did not possess. Again she stepped forward untill they met unobstructed for the second time with nothing between their quaking, inflamed bodies. They cradled each other in an affectionate embrace, her cheek pressed against his well-defined chest, his jutting erection poking into her thigh, their arousal heightened by their intimate proximity.

"A ghost does not feel like this, like heated flesh," was her whispered insistence, her voice strained. "Nor can it feel the caress of a lover."

The bottom line had been spoken as far as she was concerned, proven with a definitive kiss that she stood on the tips of her toes to give. It left his lips to trace down from chin to throat where she paused, deeply breathing in his scent. He smelled of cleanliness and everything extremely male which stimulated her further: fresh soap from the shower, salty skin, and musky flesh…all the fragrant things that composed a man's genetic chemistry irresistible to women. A kiss over the hammering pulse in his thick, sinewy neck was followed up by a laving of her soft tongue in one sly extensive lick. The muscle in his shoulder was gently nipped before her attentions lavished his chest, a favoured part of him, broad and well-built from long days of heavy physical labour, an ideal preface for the cut stomach and an introduction to that most prized part of him lower still. Latching on to one of his nipples, she hungrily sucked as her hand traversed over his body, unreserved and unafraid.

God, she _loved_ his granite firmness! If it was immoral to want him then she would voluntarily burn an eternity for a single brief touch and hold no regrets! Her hand enjoyed every youthfull ripple of lean muscle in his back, every glorious God-given male angle.

"Tu êtes monte comme un taureau, chéri!" was her sombre compliment before doing what was previously unthinkable.

Before her intent was clear, she dropped to her knees in prayer to her spectral saint, hands guiding his taut rear forward, burying her face in the nest of cornsilk coloured hair at his groin and accepting his already dripping phallus into her mouth. Gasping, he uttered profanities and unintentionally yanked a fistfull of her hair. Rather than complaining, she sucked him harder, soothing the pressure with delicate swipes of her tongue. What she was doing was not simple preparatory actions for lovemaking. Kneelling before him was symbolic of willing obedience to this demi-god in flesh, hoping to be rewarded with his spilt seed. Was there any union holier than one with a man resembling the returned Christ on the Day of Judgement? He was pure and beautifull, a celestial divinity gracing her unworthy life with his existence. No blasphemy was intended for he was God's most perfect creation. She worshipped him with hand and mouth, heart and soul.

Groaning satisfaction, he instinctively thrust forward, nearly choking her before she immobilised his hips with a firm clutch.

"Désolé, Olivia!" he amended, running his hand tenderly through her hair.

Her reply came in the form of a moan, vibrating torrid delight through his loins. He held her hair back to view her oral ministrations, rampant with thoughts of how the dirty act of love increased the beauty of her face with her closed eyes vaguely fluttering, the apples of her hollowed cheeks accentuated and her lips wrapped around him.

"Sapristi, Olivia! Ca sens bien!" he groaned throatily. "Suce moi! Suce moi et fais moi jouir!"

A short wave of embarrassment cascaded over him for the vulgarity of what was just said to her but it disappeared as swiftly as it was uttered when her head bobbed faster and mouth sucked harder in fulfilment of his request. Despite his formal respect for her, he construed that a pinch of dirtiness turned her on.

Happy to comply with the unspoken blessing, he hissed: "Merde, Olivia! Oui, suce moi, mon amour! Suce moi plus fort! Plus fort!"

A maudlin swell revived what he once believed had withered and died inside him when he thought that she had volunteered to do this out of love for him. Companioned with heightened arousal from his dirty talk, he was given no choice but to stop her if he wanted to keep his erection for sweeter things.

Bringing her to her feet, he seated her upon the deep window sill and their eyes met again, hers reflecting an unsaid entreaty begging him to let her continue. But he was having no such thing: now it was _his_ turn to do to her what he'd spent the last several months dreaming of. Her nervous eyes watched his large hand trace along the outline of the stiffened muscles of her calf and thigh, her legs instinctively parting for him. When he reached the innermost part of her leg, her breath hitched and the ticklish, anxious thigh muscle quivered beneath his pioneering fingers. His advance desisted when the tremor coursed throughout her body not because what he was doing was wrong or injurious to her but because it was a subtle pleasure of what was promised to come.

Then, a desperate test of her tightness when he carefully worked his long, calloused index finger half-way into the moist place he hoped to soon have another part of his anatomy. She gasped, clamped around him, but the digit progressed onwards untill it was buried to the knuckle. No maiden head impeded his entry but she was so impossibly tight around his finger that he worried she wouldn't be able to handle his erection. Withdrawing the finger, he licked it clean and she gulped.

"J'ai envie de toi, mon ange!" she suspired wildly. "Fais-moi l'amour!"

That had been enough. One quick but full view of the great alabaster phallus, primed for her, hard as the marble she likened it to, and the fleeting terror of how the hell was it ever going to fit crossed her mind. Nature was a miracle worker and found a way in a blur of aggression as the penis she admired disappeared only to be felt rather than seen. Her shout combined surprised pleasure and undisguised distress when it penetrated her body, the painfull shock prompting her to shove away from him in escape, flat against the window pane. Steadfast, he held her in place on him. His girth stretched her to an excruciating degree, his entry impeded by her tightness as Lisette had foreseen. Only half way inside her tender crevice and, blind with lust and need, he retracted only to brutally plunge forward untill he was embedded fully inside her.

Years of celibacy allowed his manhood to fill her the way no other ever had: heavy and thick to the point where she expected it was going to split her in half in an ecstasy that reminded her that nothing came without the price of pain. But she chose to endure it because she knew the more she let him have her the more her body would crave for and find pleasure in his untill it would be unbearable for her to be disjoined from him. It was a worthwhile undertaking that he deserved to have a woman take. It was on the cruel side to not expect him to indulge after he'd been unloved for so long. Her aching body answered the violent invasion of his manhood by constricting around the shaft so snugly that she thought she would rip it clean off him. Helplessly impaled to the hilt, she shrieked and clawed at the pale arm that secured her against his sweaty body, away from the glass.

Not how she imagined their first time to be, she was pinned in an inescapable location while he brutally pistoned into her, grunting like a senseless animal in heat. Her petite body was a vulnerable rag doll, riding the vigorous undulations and merciless pounding of his pelvis as best as she could. Another miracle of nature was that with each plunge into her, the rubbing of his hardness inside her silken sheath stimulated her, coaxing her open more in welcoming accommodation and allowing his sex to drive deeper still. Soon the initial pain ebbed away and her agonised panting transitioned into elated moaning.

Lost in raw instinct, he was incoherent of anything except his intimate burial deep within a woman and his fucking her hard and fast as if their lives depended on it, like Adam's first savage taking of Eve after discovering the carnal joy of being inside a woman for the first time. Untill, her head upon his shoulder, she cried in his ear: "Je t'aime! Je t'aime avec tout de mon coeur et âme!"

Reality then pummelled him like a spitefull hammer. Where he was, what he was doing and who he was doing it to rushed back to him in one mortifying flash and he refrained from her. Protesting, she tried to join with him again but it was too late. The angelic deity verified his humanity when he sank subservient to his knees, all the way down to the floor, to her feet, his imploring hands upon her ankles.

"Oh mon dieu, Olivia! Pardonnez-moi! Veuillez me pardonner! Je suis si désolé! Pardonnez-moi!"

Heartbroken by the spectacle of the naked albino weeping for forgiveness at her feet, she simply stared with amazement at this unexpected turn of events.

"I hurt you!" he cried, shedding insight on the interruption of his performance. "I am so very sorry, Olivia! I did not mean to hurt you!"

Stooping down, she placed a consolatory hand on the pitifull man's shoulder, forcing him to peer at her with a gentle supportive hand beneath his chin. A cocktail of attrition and despondency already swelled his eyes while in wait of punishment.

Sympathy overtook her. What hells he experienced that had been an overture for the act-now-think-later nature he possessed came into question. His past had never been a thorough discussion of theirs but she decided their newly established roles would demand it. Right after she repaired this sacred moment because the only thing that mattered was this very second. She wanted to be made love to by this living work of art sculpted to satisfy her every need.

"It's all right," she murmured, almost as if to a child.

"How could it be?" he sobbed. "I had no right to—"

"Embrasse-moi, mon beau ange."

Leaning over, she pressed her unfaltering lips to his. Although he was reluctant to reciprocate, it did not take long before his impenetrable guilt collapsed, the kiss a secret password to the guard stationed at his heart.

"Est-ce que tu veux faire amour avec moi?" he asked, afraid her desire was fragile and would fall apart.

"Oui, mon ange. Je te veux desesperement."

He smiled with a relief that both weakened and strengthened him. Rising to his feet, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed where he lowered her like a debonair hero in a tawdry romance. Instead of proceeding to that sweet part of her he had recklessly desecrated mere minutes ago, he hovered over her, cock still service-ready. A twitch in his brawny arms copied the one of her thigh in his effort to abjure from ruining his second chance. His mind needed to be clear. Olivia was not Lisette: he could not simply plough into her the way his natural instinct demanded. The woman beneath him waiting deserved to be treated with the delicacy of fine china, despite having no frailty about her. His newfound restraint was not an antiquated belief that she would break under him but one of reverence and an affectionate sincerity he'd never felt for any other woman. If the sole purpose his dedicated worship of her was forged from she being the first woman other than his mother and the whore he lost his innocence to who saw beyond his physical flaws then thank God it was worship of her and nobody else! He submitted to her as genuinely as she submitted to him and all was perfect. He was, at last, returned to himself.

"Embrasse-moi," she commanded softly.

He obeyed with a gentle press of his lips over hers in a manner that was first shy but then amourous when she bent forward to meet him, her arms encircling his neck. One kiss led to a fierce onslaught, each kiss hotter than the last untill his mouth strayed to one of her nipples unto which he commenced the suckling he was urged to do since its exposure. The small nub was teased with slow lolling motions of his tongue, reminding her of an ocean wave licking the sandy shore. Her sharp inhale and subsequent arch upward pleased him into a responding groan. Light caresses from her fingers over his scalp sent a heated chill through his body and he shuddered.

Body heat generated a maddening erotic energy between them that kindled their hunger for each other; the bulk of him on top of her was indescribable euphoria that nothing in heaven could offer. One of woman's greatest simple pleasures was to be pinned down submissively by her lover's weight despite her modern beliefs. For Olivia it was no secret longing and she relished his dominance. Freeing her breast, he stroked her face lightly, the burning desperation in his eyes reminding her of a zealous angel entering battle for its Lord. The question upon his face was answered with an ardent nod of her head.

"Maintenant, mon amour!" she barely breathed.

"Êtes-te prêt?"

"Oui!"

Kissing her in gratitude, he compressed his forehead against hers, reached down, guided the tip of his organ to her entrance and pushed. Imagery of his earlier violation flared back from memory and prevented him from granting her wish.

"Mettez mon bite dedans!" he begged, afraid he would commit another unwanted act again.

Remembrance of the hurt caused by his prior savage penetration paralyzed her and when she balked to comply, he placed her hand between their legs, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

"Si vous voulez mon bite, mettez-le dedans," he repeated strongly.

Fear of his manhood and what it was capable of seized her despite her want of it. What if he got too excited like before and repeated his mistake? The last thing she wanted was to have faith in each other vanquished and damage their love beyond repair over his teenage lust raging beyond control.

But taking him into her home in the first place had been a risk. Olivia was raised by her parents to take risks or else she would never get anything worthwhile out of life. Her fright over their love gone awry, however rational it may be, needed to be snuffed as much as his lack of discipline did. Yet wasn't he proving her wrong now by allowing her command over his body? Wasn't that a want for change and willingness to try? Of course it was.

Slowly her panic lessened. The payoff came in a sensation only this man could exclusively give: his body uniting with hers as one. He breached her female opening for the second time as she brought his cock forward and she writhed to suit his size as he wedged in an inch. Her fingernails dug wells into his forearms and he inserted another inch.

"Prenez votre temps, mon amour!" he insisted softly.

Sweat streamed from his brow because of the miraculous self-control he exhibited, the benefit that he'd originally hoped to obtain in having Lisette to quench his untamed teenaged passion before his divine consummation with Olivia, at last kicked in. _Slow and steady,_ he thought. _Give her time!_ His hips wiggled and bore down but their complete union was prevented further when she clenched around him with an unbelievable, startling grip.

"Merde, ma cherie!" he panted, trying to gently force deeper inside her but unable to. "Tu êst trop etroite!"

"S'il te plaît, n'arrêtez pas!" she pled.

Women were built for taking men in this manner of love so he knew her snug passage would eminently stretch to fit him with patience, practise and time. With hands behind her knees, he tucked them in closer to her torso and spread her wider, a luxury afforded by her lissome youth. As he drew his pelvis backwards, she whimpered but when he pushed back in he progressed by ending up half way submerged. He gasped, quaking, as he ever so gently gave her a series of slow thrusts that ended at the half-way point.

"Êtes-vous tout droit?" he whispered with genuine concern.

"Je suis raffiné! S'il te plaît font pas s'arrêter! Je t'aime, mon ange!"

The deliberate half-strokes in and out of her got her even wetter and her body opened like a flower, taking another inch with every few thrusts untill at long last his hips rested over hers and his dick was fully embedded inside her.

Filled with him now, the torture of his measured impalement was over. Sweet, sweet torture on the wings of an ivory angel! Or aptly, on the most private part of him.

"Dites-moi s'il blesse trop," he advised, allowing nature to take its course with a slow, unremitting pace. "S'il fait, je m'arrêterai."

"N'arrêtez pas, oh Dieu, ne s'arrêtent pas!"

Eyes brimming with gracious devotion, he kissed her with a sincere passion that made it easier for him to carefully withdraw then slide back in fully. She whimpered but he repeated the movement, using his kisses to distract her from the sting of intercourse. After a solid minute, he found his willpower crumbling and drove into her warm wetness harder, restraining himself when she cried out and squeezed tensely around him. Whether the sob was one of agony or enjoyment he was unsure but one thing was certain. He needed to remember that for the first time in his life he wasn't fucking, he was making love. This was for his lover's pleasure, not his own.

Then came a proposal he didn't expect to hear: "Baisez-moi dur et jeûnez comme un taureau!"

Even as he consented against his better judgement, the albino tested her endurance by withdrawing a few inches before, with a bestial grunt, shoving in deep to the base of his prick as hard as he could. She almost screamed and bit his shoulder to stifle it, thrashing beneath him in her bittersweet agony. The constriction around him was so strong he growled in effort to not come. He waited for her body to adjust and for his desire to subside enough to hold back his presently unwanted ejaculation and clear his mind again. At this point it could no longer be helped. He gave her a series of hard but slow thrusts that gradually built up in speed when he realised she was handling him better. Soon he was pounding at her so furiously that he expected the bed to collapse, the audience of creaking mattress springs cheering the bull to ravage the matador.

"Oui, mon taureau!" she wailed, barely able to speak below his crushing weight and frenzied motions. "Plus fort!"

More blood was drawn from his arms that she would later feel remorse for but presently it was the farthest thing from her mind. Right now, her only concern was of the silky feel of the iron hardness ramming her body.

"J'ai besoin de vous tellement! Plus dur! Plus dur!" she appealed, begging for more from her angel, for all he had to give, blessed for the privilege of having him fuck her. She was convinced that he was a hallowed seraph handpicked by God to serve her as a reward for her service to the Lord. Her Heaven was about to come, here on Earth.

The powerfull, desperate strokes were sacrificed when he rooted himself deep and bucked frantically untill her body twisted off the mattress, lifting into his arms with a glass-shattering shriek. Nothing in existence boosted a man's ego like success in giving his lover the achievement of carnal ecstasy and, despite being unusual in his appearance, the albino was still a man and his confidence thrived in full force. _He_ was giving this to her! _Him_ and nobody else! He had won this right from his rival, from all other men! Thus, her orgasm invoked sexual hysteria in him and his cock jackhammered into her harder still. His satiation was swiftly approaching, the friction exquisitely unbearable.

A single unforeseen sentiment of respect occurred to him at this mistimed instant when he began to think like a pagan man. She referred to him as her angel but yet it was quite the reverse. It was she who saved him. She was the sacred one, blasphemed against with this carnal act he performed upon her. Her body was a temple and the cavity that now housed his erection was the vessel to his redemption. Was he worthy to be inside her, to have the right to selfishly pollute her hallowed orifice with his spilt seed?

"Je suis sur le point de jouir!" he warned. Then, a statement that begged for permission: "Faites celui que tu vouliez! Je veux jouir dans tu!"

But it wasn't sacrilege in Olivia's eyes, confirmed when she responded, out of breath, "Oui, ange, oui! Toute chose pour vous!"

Permission granted, his body was going to burst. Slamming into her a few more times, he moaned and felt the surge rising in his loins.

"Je jouis!" he exclaimed, thrusting violently. "Je jouis, je jouis, cherie!"

With a groan and the deepest plunge their anatomies would allow, his seed passed from his body and into hers. She clung to him, holding him securely and whispering sweet dirty nothings in his ear as he came.

But he did not hear them. A ringing in his ear drowned them out and his body entered a state not unlike rigor mortis, locking him inside her. An intense light rendered his eyes sightless and the breath stilled in his lungs. Beyond the light the Gates of Heaven opened wide for him, the cordial sound of seraphim singing hymns and an envisaged serene Eden waited. The only thing he could feel was the immense pleasure of his prick inside the tight, warm place it was in, throbbing rapturously in the woman. When the climax slowed and his senses returned, the glimpse of paradise faded away.

_La petite mort!_

**Translations for Chapter 13:**

_Tu enlevez mon souffle!_ _ Tu m'excites tant, mon amour! Je te veux vraiment!_ – You take my breath away! You turn me on so much! I want you badly!

_Pas dans mes yeux._ – Not in my eyes

_Tu__ êtes monte comme un taureau, __chéri_ !– You are hung like a bull!

_Désolé, Olivia!_ – I'm sorry, Olivia!

_Sapristi, Olivia! Ca sens bien! Suce moi! Suce moi et fais moi jouir!_ – Goddamn, Olivia! That feels nice! Suck me! Suck me and make me cum!

_Merde, Olivia! Oui, suce moi, mon amour! Suce __moi plus fort! Plus fort!_ – Fuck, Olivia! Yes, suck me, my love! Suck me hard! Harder!

_J'ai envie de toi, mon ange! Fais-moi l'amour!_ I want you, my angel! Make love to me!

_Je t'aime! Je t'aime avec tout de mon coeur et âme!_ – I love you! I love you with all my heart and soul!

_Oh mon dieu, Olivia! Pardonnez-moi! Veuillez me pardonner!_ Je suis si désolé! Pardonnez-moi! - Oh my god, Olivia! Forgive me! Please forgive me! I am so sorry! Forgive me!

_Embrasse-moi, mon beau ange_. – Kiss me, my beautiful angel

_Est-ce que tu veux faire amour avec moi?_ – Do you want to make love with me?

_Oui, mon ange. Je te veux desesperement_ – Yes, my angel. I want you desperately

_Maintenant, mon amour!_ – Now, my love!

_Êtes-te prêt?_ – Are you ready?

_Mettez mon bite dedans_ - Put my cock in.

_Si vous voulez mon bite, mettez-le dedans _– If you want my cock, put it in.

_Prenez votre temps, mon amour!_ – Take your time, my love!

_Tu __ê__st trop etroite!_ – You are too tight!

_S'il te plaît, __n'arrêtez pas__!_ – Please don't stop!

_Ê__tes-vous tout droit?_ - Are you all right?

_Je suis raffiné! S'il vous plaît font pas s'arrêter!_ _Je t'aime, mon ange!_ - I'm fine! Please do not stop! I love you, my angel!

_Dites-moi s'il blesse trop. S'il fait, je m'arrêterai._ - Tell me if it hurts too much. If it does, I will stop.

_N'arrêtez pas, oh Dieu, ne s'arrêtent pas!_ - Do not stop, oh god, do not stop!

_Baisez-moi dur et jeûnez comme un taureau!_ – Fuck me hard and fast like a bull!

_Oui, mon __taureau__! __Plus fort__!_ – Yes, my bull! Harder!

_J'ai besoin de vous tellement! Plus dur! Plus dur! _– I need you so much! Harder! Harder!

_Je suis sur le point de jouir! Je veux jouir dans tu!_ – I'm going to cum! I want to cum in you!

_Oui, ange, oui! Faites celui que tu vouliez! Toute chose pour vous! – Yes, angel,_ yes! Do whatever you want! Anything for you!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Soft morning sun and hard alabaster flesh were the first things she saw, when like a butterfly's fragile wings, her eyes fluttered open. The yellow of the solar rays caught the chatoyant hair on his arms, making them glisten like individual prisms that caught and divided the light on each strand. The albino was lying prone, his head cradled in the crook of one of his elbows which served as a pillow to him; the real pillows were thrown without regard to the floor with the duvet. The rest of the bedclothes were in tangled disarray around both of their bodies, none of it enough to offer the inhabitants of the bed much warmth.

Her body shivered with the realisation so she gently tugged at the excess of blanket that her new lover had about his waist, hoping to claim it for herself. But he was far too heavy for her to achieve her goal. Unable to wrestle anything from underneath the dead weight of the albino, she sighed with exasperation. Falling lax in the fading warmth of her own space, she counted to five to regroup before redoubling her efforts to steal a portion of the blanket. It was just no use. He was simply too heavy. Neither man nor blanket budged. If she pursued it, the knitted blanket would rip and because it was made and given to her by her mother that was the last thing she wanted.

Her eye caught a set of pyjamas she'd laid out in the chair across the room and she went to retrieve them. The movement of her leaving the bed rippled through the mattress and did what all of her yanking on the blanket could not. The great albino rolled over onto his back and popped open a fiery eye. It landed on her but, contrary to its deceiving angry colour, brimmed with unspoken affection.

"I got cold," she explained, her voice hoarse.

"Come back to bed and I will keep you warm," he pledged.

But she was bitter for her show of weakness.

"You were the reason I got cold in the first place," she griped. "Now I know what kind of a bed mate you are. You're a blanket thief."

He said nothing but looked at her for a moment as if weighing her words and his reactionary options. He wasn't sure if she was teasing him or insulting him. Either way, he chose to ignore the remark. Cocking an eyebrow, he softly but firmly demanded: "Come back to bed."

The command sent quivers through her body and she remembered that she was completely naked, clutching her night clothes in her fists, and she was vulnerable in aspects not only of temperature but of his scrutiny and gratification. She didn't fulfil his order any more than he enforced it. Their eyes remained locked for a few more seconds before he admitted defeat to himself and rolled back onto his stomach, burying his nose into her pillow.

"You're a silly sort of creature," she remarked, the forgotten pyjamas dropping from her unclenched fists as she trooped back to the bed.

He greeted her by rolling over again and drawing her into his arms, inviting her near with delicious body heat.

"That may be so," he murmured against her ear, "but you love this silly creature."

She chuckled in spite of herself.

"You can be silly all you like today," she sighed, "but starting tomorrow we'll have to work extra hard for the next few days to make up for it."

"No work today?"

She shook her head. "Not after last night. We'll be too preoccupied with each other, don't you think?"

Her small hand reached low beneath the blankets to the large prize that awaited her there. His response was a deep throated moan that seared straight through her.

"It seems so," he moaned, then drew her face up to kiss her deeply.

Sooner than she realised, she was beneath him again and he was buried inside her, establishing a slow and steady rhythm that was contrary to his roughness during the time before. Her thighs, still sore from their previous fun, shook around him. When he felt them trembling, he interrupted his pace to lift them over his shoulders to prevent them from bothering her. She smiled at his consideration and rewarded him with a long kiss. Their unhurried love lasted close to a half hour, Olivia couldn't resist noticing and when he finally collapsed beside her once more he was as limp and out of breath from the intensity as she was.

"Could this be any more perfect?" she asked rhetorically.

"Oui," he answered any way. "You could make breakfast."

She laughed. "Breakfast? Typical man!"

"What? A man deserves to be taken care of after he pleases his woman."

"Who said you pleased me?" Her tone was jovial, her attitude feigned.

"You said."

"When?"

"When you screamed my name in your pleasure. Now make breakfast."

"Does this new arrangement mean I'll have to deal with a newfound male arrogance from you?"

"I suppose you will find out."

"I suppose I will."

She leant down and pecked him on the lips before leaving the bed for her robe. Warm as it was, his warmth was far superior.

"I'll make breakfast. Any requests?"

"Anything edible. I am starving."

"I believe it. I've worked up an appetite too. At least it's a good healthy appetite worked up by very pleasurable exercise."

"It is better than picking grapes."

She laughed and slapped his shoulder gently. "Off to make the breakfast I go." And then she was.

The first half of the house was colder than the second, or so it appeared with the lack of the albino's warmness. Straight away, she brewed coffee for herself; it was only a mug of cheap instant coffee but the heat that drained from the mug and spread throughout her body was as welcomed as that of her new lover . After finishing off half of her mug, she made some of the real stuff with the coffee maker.

The rich aroma that permeated the room oddly soothed her, giving her the pleasant reminder of a tiny cafe in Paris that her parents used to take her to when she was little. While most families chose holiday spots more remote and exotic to them, Olivia's parents took her to cities that were rich in culture and history. Despite living in France, Paris always held a limitless fascination in her heart and had never been boring for her like so many other places might be to natives who lived in or near them. She could spend her off season in the City of Lights and be contented.

Maybe after the harvest she could persuade the albino to take the trip with her. She wondered how he would like the suggestion, if he would take an interest in going. She knew he loved the seclusion of the vineyard because he shied away from other people, which meant that it was an unlikely feat to coax him out from its safety. She remembered how he balked at entering the village for the first time, the negative reaction he had when she stated she'd wanted him to join her. It had been meant to be an innocent request, of course, and she would have never made it had she not needed him to help her with heavy supplies.

The city would pose a much bigger threat than the village and people would be everywhere to rudely stare at him. Gawkers would be too numerous in an urban environment for him. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him unnecessary stress. She would be equally happy staying home and spending time in bed with him. The vineyard, more specifically the bed, was their private paradise, their Eden.

Her thoughts switched toward the Étienne's betrayal and it was a bad taste on her tongue. If her morally wayward friend had told her about his unquenched flame for her she would've managed rejecting him far more lightly than she had. With his deceptive scheme to eliminate the threat of the albino's romantic competition, he left no room for delicacies. She knew him well enough to know that bluntness was necessary at the point it had reached.

The worst part of it was that their lifelong friendship had been obliterated by his determination to have what he could not have. Why couldn't he just accept her friendship? Wasn't a friendship better than nothing at all? Now he lost her entirely. Didn't he? Shouldn't he? Pity and doubt created by their deep bond endangered her decision and force her to phone him to apologise; they'd been friends for _so long_ and it was tragic that a childhood friendship should be destroyed by petty jealousy, petty because for as enduring as their friendship had been, it was now destroyed by an unwillingness to come forward and deal with the issue accordingly.

Damn him for this ridiculous choice! Why couldn't he simply come to her rather than go behind her back? How much could she really mean to him if he couldn't confront her about it?

Ignoring the surge of frustrated anger, she set to cooking breakfast for the massive and justifiably hungry man upstairs. On a general basis the albino's appetite was enormous. Rigorous lovemaking would only increase that robust hunger. Irresolute of what he would possibly want, she decided to make a little bit of everything. What had she gotten herself into by taking him as a lover she wondered with a mischievous smile.

The easiest thing was to wash and cut up the fresh fruit: cantaloupe, strawberries and grapes. Once the slices were in a bowl, she mixed the batter for what was going to be crapes. By the time everything was finished, there were a pair of veggie omelets, a few links of thick sausage and a stack of toast with butter to accompany the crapes and fruit. With the food spread out across the table, she discovered that it was far too much for her to carry back upstairs by herself. Damn. She really wanted to have breakfast in bed.

Sighing, she ran through her options, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear while she thought. From out of nowhere and without forewarning, warm and powerfull arms encircled her, drawing her backward against a very hard body. Her reaction was a smile and she leaned into him to enjoy his warmth for a few sensational moments before she realised that he was still unclothed.

"Don't you think you should put on something warm?" she suggested. "It's a bit nippy in here.'

"Do I feel like I am cold?"

Heat radiated from his sinewy body that was as delicious as the strawberry she plucked from the bowl on a whim, a strawberry that she bit into before turning to brush against his lips. The juice was vivid red over the pale pink flesh and equally sweet when she licked it off. He captured her mouth in a kiss that erased functionality from her mind as the rest of the berry plummeted forgotten to the floor.

"No," she protested feebly when his advance pressed the small of her back against the table's edge.

"Why not?"

He was already reaching into the robe that separated her flesh from his, expectant that it would be banished to the floor alongside the lost strawberry. The albino easily got his way and it was seconds before she was bent over the table with his cock thrusting at her. Silly thoughts streamed through her head: how glad she was that the food was on the opposite side of the table, how she needed to clean up the strawberry before one of them slipped on it, how slutty she must have looked while naked and pushed over the kitchen table, a giant man with alabaster flesh and red eyes having sex with her.

Did any of it matter at the moment? The food was unharmed, the strawberry would be cleaned and the albino's cock felt far too fantastic for her to care too much about the rest. She cried out in pleasure with each plunge that was answered with a grunt of his own; his hands caressed the arch of her back, grabbing a fistfull of her long hair to yank back her head for a kiss that muffled a whimper of pain. He wound her hair around his fingers so tightly that a searing sting in her scalp worried her that he would rip out some. What's more, the end of the table felt like a guillotine blade sawing her in half, her breath knocked from her lungs with every hard shove. The last thing she wanted to do was complain because it felt immeasurably good where it was meant to. Everything else was like the endorphin-releasing pain received when continually biting the inside of your lip. All too soon did he empty himself into her and it was over, she disappointed that she hadn't climaxed this time. Then when he pulled free she felt him pour out of her in a mess that pooled around the strawberry.

"Why does sex have to be so messy?" she light-heartedly complained.

"I will clean the mess," was his unexpected offer that turned her heart to mush.

"No, no. I insist that you have your breakfast, replenish your stamina for the next round."

"I will wait. Then we can eat together."

"But your food will get cold."

"I will wait."

But when she returned minutes later with a wet rag, it was he who removed the rag from her grip and stooped to tidy up. When she began to protest, he quieted her with a lingering kiss before leaving to dispose of the mess. Without any work to occupy her hands, she filled her plate with food and poured herself a cup of coffee. As she sipped daintily from it, the albino returned, seated himself and began to eat ravenously.

She smiled to herself, recalling what she told him during their first breakfast together, now so long ago in matters of the spirit if not in real time. _Slow down.__It isn't going any where and there's plenty more where that came from._ She was about to repeat those words dredged up from the past, half out of jest to see if he remembered too and half in truth because he was wolfing his food down so fast. But it was then when he glanced up either out of happenstance or because he sensed her stare he slowed down. Could it have been self awareness still stemming from the inferiority complex she'd hoped to exorcise out of him? Or was it out of the politeness he'd learnt while living with her? She was afraid to ask; the last thing she wanted to do was rouse the inferior notions a horrible life of abuse and ostracism had planted in his head.

Rather, she plucked a strawberry from her plate and stuffed its plump sweet body into her mouth. But there was something she _had_ wanted to ask him about, something that being a lover granted her the right to ask despite a red flag raising in her mind that she shouldn't breach the subject for the time being.

"How many lovers have you had?"

The question took him unaware. At first all he could manage to do was stare at her and blink, pondering the question as if she'd asked it in a language he didn't understand. She was both amused and remorsefull for causing it.

"Other than you? Two."

Olivia raised an eye brow at that. There was one more than she'd expected.

"I know Lisette. Who is the other one?"

He shrugged ever so slightly, popped another strawberry in his mouth and chewed long and deliberate before replying, "I do not know. She was a prostitute who made a consenual offer. Others made fun of me. She wanted to teach them a lesson."

Olivia wasn't sure how she liked hearing that information. Suddenly she wished she hadn't' asked.

"A prostitute."

"Oui." Then he reached full comprehension of the tone in her voice. "Your messiah fell in love with a prostitute, did he not?"

"Yes, but that was different."

He scowled slightly. "How is it different?"

Olivia was at a loss and stuttered with her explanation. "Because it just is," was all she could muster.

"But _why_?"

"Because he saved her life. He stopped the men from stoning her to death."

"And my prostitute stopped my enemies from stoning me with insults and ridicule."

"But Christ never actually _slept_ with Mary Magdalene."

The albino's scowl deepened. "How do you know?"

It should've ended there but she felt the need to defend her stance.

"Because he was a pure human being. The son of God."

"The son of God, made as a man. He was only a man, Olivia."

An uncomfortable pause settled between them that she loathed. She should have listened to her instincts and never asked. Yet it hadn't been the only thing that bothered her. A sudden absurdity in their being stark naked at the table washed over her and she felt the need to clothe herself and get away to let the unease die. The sun was out and warm, the food before them was too good and the previous night was too satisfying for a petty disagreement in faith to turn it all sour.

Instead of saying more, she chose to smile brightly, reach across the table for his hand and say softly: "You're right. Let's not dispute uncertain history."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then rose from her chair to pour another mug of coffee.

"I'm taking my coffee outside to enjoy the morning sun. Would you care to join me?"

"I'm still naked."

Giving him a wily smile, she said, "With nobody to see for miles around."

"I will shower and dress before I join you."

She shrugged as she slipped back into her robe. "Suit yourself." And with that, she was walking out of the kitchen and to the front porch.

The albino smiled at her back for her brash public indecency. It _was_ her property, true enough, but the thought of her being outside bare beneath her robe enticed him greatly so that he needed to fight against his libido for control. Then he remembered how often he'd been bare for the world to see beneath the fig tree and knew he had no room to judge. Unclothed, they were as God had meant for them to be: pure and innocent, despite their carnal inclinations for each other. But in thier purest sense, interests of the flesh were pure and innocent too. It was unfair of him to complain, especially since she was right when she said that there were miles of uninhabited fields protecting them. The nearest neighbours weren't for miles in any direction.

He finished his breakfast at a leisurely pace then went into to his own bedroom to retrieve a set of clean clothes for the day. He chose a plain white shirt that was meant to be worn as an undergarment and a pair of jeans then headed into the bathroom to shower.

The water was deliciously hot, as he always made it regardless of the temperature outside or in the rest of the house because he liked to see the hint of rosiness that the water brought out in his flesh. What he hated was how he had to wash her from his body. He loved wearing her scent all over him, it was a sweet, feminine scent that comforted him and dispelled the demons of his past. He was not a ghost. A woman could not love a ghost. A woman could not make love with a ghost. Nor could she leave her scent on him like a territorial mark if he was a ghost. He wasn't a ghost, he was a man, and her smell made him accept that. But washing Olivia's scent away turned him into a ghost again.

Another thing he didn't like was how the scalding water dried out his skin and made him itchy so that he needed to rub lotion all over his body before dressing. He liked the cocoa butter lotion that Olivia kept on the shelf behind the door. Its coconut scent made him think of far away tropical lands that he would never visit. He supposed Olivia enjoyed the smell of him when he wore it too because she never complained. Stepping from the shower, he reached for the cocoa butter lotion and slathered a big palmfull of it all over, his thirsty skin soaking it up like desert sand soaked up rain.

At least it made him feel better. Like half a man.

Once his hygiene had been taken care of, the lotion spread on his body dried and he was dressed, he remembered that the clothing he wore the day before was still rumpled and strewn throughout the master bedroom. Not wanting to leave a mess for Olivia to pick up after, he walked back into the room and took the clothes from the floor himself. When he stooped to pick up his jeans, a gust of cool air caressed his body and he realised that the window was still open.

_The day is beautifull. Let it remain open._

Rising from his crouch, with a heart lifted by memories of love and prospects of sunny weather, his eyes caught sight of something small, red and shiny sitting in the window on the sill.

It was an apple.

AN: Special thanks to the Great Red Dragon for keeping there werewolf on her toes in updating. Extra special thanks to the dearest Alexa Twitch who has become an invaluable friend to me for the passed few years. Lots of love, Alexa.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

In a fit of blind rage, the great albino snatched the fruit from the window sill then stormed through the house and out the front door, cursing in French the entire way. With a mighty throw, the apple sailed over the front garden to crash and roll across the ground. Olivia, who'd been relaxing in a chair on the porch, was aghast at the suddenness of his violence. Seeing his alabaster body shake with rage, she rose from where she sat and placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder, asking what was the matter.

To her disbelief, he shrugged off her dainty hand and stomped from the porch, leaving her to stare with frightened wonder while he searched the immediate vicinity. She waited patiently, though in bewilderment and watched him circumnavigate the house, for what she knew not. When she made the attempt to speak to him in a palliating voice she was ignored. Knowing her new lover owned a contumacious streak, she impatiently tried her best to wait out his fit.

After his rage was satisfied, he marched back to her side, vast chest heaving from his agitation. Instead of speaking, she allotted him time to calm down. In that time, he said nothing but only took that time, and all the while his red eyes sent a line of hellfire across the vineyard. She reached out again to place a hand against his breast but it was like she wasn't even there. Permitting him the silence he needed, she brushed the palm of her hand down his chest to the large hand at his side only to find it clenched into a tight and ready fist.

Docile fingers unwound the hard clenched fingers that held the intent to kill. She sublimated her peacefull demeanour on him and was glad when the stress in the joints and muscles of his fingers loosened. It was then that she fully clasped his hand fully into hers, the blackness of her worry brightening when his thumb caressed the back of her hand.

"What happened?" she dared to ask meekly, not sure she actually wanted to know. Things had been going so well. She wasn't surprised that something had to be the wrench thrown in the well oiled machinery.

At last his inflamed eyes fell upon her and the hellfire in them was quenched by the tranquil ocean in hers. For that one split second, however, she bore witness to the rage she wished would never be directed at her in any way. At least the inferno in those eyes died seconds after they set upon her.

"What happened?" she questioned once more, adding strength behind her voice this time.

He sighed, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before answering, "An apple. I found an apple in the window of the bedroom."

Olivia considered what he was saying. An apple. Irrefragable proof of Étienne's presence! _Damn_ him! The implication seemed unreal to her. She'd known Étienne for all of her life and despite his treachery to win her heart, she couldn't fathom that he would sneak back on her property after being banished and spy on her...worse, invade her privacy during an intimate moment inside her bedroom.

Now it was she who was infuriated.

"Son of a bitch," she swore to herself with a stamp of her foot. Then realising what she'd said, she placed a hand over her mouth. "I can't believe he would do something like that. I've known him forever."

"Your childhood friend has been doing several things you never believed him capable of lately."

"Fighting dirty to win my heart is one thing but this is a whole different level of offence. It's so..."

"Invasive."

"Yes, invasive. But he wouldn't watch us making love, that's far too...icky."

"Sooner or later you will need to understand that your friend is not who he used to be."

The grip of his hand increased in strength as his anger renewed. When she cried out he released her and she needed to shake her hand to stop the smarting numbness.

"I am sorry," he amended softly, his anger waning in knowing that he'd caused her pain.

She smiled to show there were no hard feelings then took his hand in hers again.

"If I ever find him in this vineyard I will kill him, Olivia," vowed the albino.

He meant it and she knew he did. That terrified her. With his hulking muscular body she didn't want to fathom what he would be capable of doing to Étienne should he ever get a hold of him. Her body shuddered and when he felt it he pressed her against him, mistaking her fear for a chill.

"Come inside with me," he suggested.

She agreed with a slight nod and, sliding his arm around her tiny waist, he took the first step forward, back into the house where they were hopefully out of sight of prying eyes. As they stepped over the threshold, she couldn't resist a glance over her shoulder in search of Étienne. Thankfully she didn't see him if he was there looking back. Yet even as she shut the door to their backs she could still feel eyes upon her, watching. So dreadfull was the eerie feeling that she couldn't wait to put her albino lover between herself and those insidious eyes. And he was perceptive of her intent too.

"Look what he has done to you," griped the albino. "He has you afraid. Afraid on _your_ property, in _your_ home. This is unacceptable. I do not like seeing you in this way."

"I don't like being like this," she retorted with a shiver. "But I refuse to be bullied. I must do something."

"_I_ will do something."

She offered a weak smile. "I don't think breaking in the door and snapping Étienne's neck would do either of us much good."

"What would _you_ do?"

"Solve the problem the female way: diplomatically."

The albino snorted in disapproval. "For such men there is no reasoning."

"I have to try. I can't throw away a lifelong friendship. Maybe I can salvage something out of it yet."

"What would you salvage, Olivia? A broken vase may be glued back together but it will never be as strong as it was before it broke. It will be weak and it will never hold water again. Imagine the distrust that will lay between you and it will never go away. Never, Olivia. Can you ever again trust him to not destroy a possible future with his jealousy?"

The albino's pithy insight was a hefty stone upon Olivia's chest. She sighed and dropped her gaze while she thought. He was right, she knew. But could she bring herself to turn her back on so much history without trying to correct the problem?

"I have to try," she insisted. "I _need_ to try. I need to go and speak with Lisette."

Of course this news caused him distress again.

"Olivia! No!" he decried. "You cannot mean to see _her_!"

"I shouldn't expect to speak with Étienne. He would be impossible and wouldn't listen to a syllable coming out of my mouth. The only logical substitute is Lisette."

"But she was in on the plot."

"Maybe. Maybe she was just a pawn to him. There's only one way of finding out, isn't there?"

"I do not like this, Olivia."

"I know you don't. But I absolutely _need_ to try. You must understand that. One more time, then if reason doesn't suss out, we'll think of a Plan B."

"What is Plan B?"

"I have no idea. I haven't thought that far in advance yet."

"How do you expect to do this, Olivia? There is no phone on the estate."

She passed him a look and her intent dawned on him like a terrible sun.

"No, Olivia, no. I cannot allow you to go there. I _will_ not allow you!"

She smiled lovingly at him and squeezed his hand. "It's a good thing women aren't owned commodities any more."

Had he not been an albino all the colour from his face would have drained. He knew she was a strong woman with fierce independence and he had always respected that. However, going to meet with the enemy on their territory was unacceptable and out of the question, even if he had to exert unwanted force.

Pulling free of her grip, he strolled across the room, his crossed arms to showcase the definition in them, reminding her, showing her like a lion strutting in front of the lioness. Her eyes strayed over the musculature of his upper body with great admiration but like a lioness she was bemused rather than afraid.

"You don't need to worry," she guaranteed. "I wasn't planning on paying visit to her at home. I'll meet her at the big cafe in the village."

"In the village?"

If she went directly to the house he would at least be able to join her and in the process make certain of her safety. Should she go to the cafe, however, he would be unable to go. He knew what would happen and the story played out in his flustered mind.

An elderly couple owned the cafe that factored into Olivia's scheme. At the centre of town, it was a landmark that signalled that Lisette's home was another half an hour off on the opposite outskirts of town. Once during one of his treks to meet Lisette, he'd had an altercation with that elderly couple. In passing, he'd stopped in front of the door when he saw a young boy of an estimated age of five crouched down and scratching in the dirt with a stick.

It was ungodly hot that day and the sweat trickling down his brow irritated him. The little sum of money in his pocket would have allowed him to purchase an icy drink to cool down. Wiping a stream of perspiration from his eyes, he pulled the coins from his pocket and counted them in his palm. Yes, he had enough plus a bit left over. He'd glanced longingly inside the shop, noting how parched and dry his throat was and deciding that he should stop for a drink while the opportunity presented itself. He tried to swallow but there hadn't been much saliva for him to do so. Dealing with the child was likely a far safer risk than facing the adults.

He couldn't go into the café himself. Red flags raised each time he went into the town as it was. Too self conscious to go inside himself yet needing to get out of the sun, he ambled toward the shade...and the child under the vigilant eyes of the adults inside. Taking a sense of normalcy for granted, the boy hadn't bothered to so much as glance up from his dusty work, not taking notice of the pale abomination that approached him with a favour to ask.

"Excuse-moi," the albino addressed, his deepened voice chastened by fear of invoking the foreseeable terror in the child and the subsequent wrath of the adults. Ignored the first time, he cleared his throat, raised his voice and tried again. " Excuse-moi. Boy." So there was no question as to who he was speaking. "J'ai un service á te demander? Will you please buy me something to drink? I have extra money, I can pay you with what is left."

"Get it yourself," the boy responding smartly without paying him mind. "I'm busy."

Nonplussed by the boy's impudence, all the albino could do was blink and allow the words to sink in.

"I cannot go in there," he insisted, voice lowered once again.

"Why not? I'm busy."

Sweat mixed with fear formed uncomfortable rivers than ran off of him and he was about to give up before trouble arose when a piercing scream jolted him. Anonymity from the boy's refusal to glance up fled like the albino should have done. The boy had finally looked at him. That was when all hell broke loose. Just as sure as the boy was up and racing toward the safety of his grandparents, the grandparents were bolting out the door to his unnecessary rescue with arms open wide.

As the old woman scooped the child into her arms and glared heatedly at the object of the boy's fright, the old man brandished a broom and swung it at the albino with a torrent of insults, demands for him to leave not only the café but the village altogether and shouts for the police.

The albino was thunderstruck that his innocent request of the boy had wrought such a cruel answer. Perhaps time on the vineyard enveloped in Olivia's compassion for so long had softened him, made him forget the harsh reality of his difference and the indifference others showed him because of it. He staggered away backwards, arms extended in front of him with palms open to not only deflect the swipes of the broom but to show anyone, everyone watching that he was unarmed and meant no harm.

A hasty retreat was made from the scene of his innocent crime and he only slowed when Lisette's house was in sight. The elderly couple would not soon forget the fantôme they chased away with their homespun curses.

"I would wish that you would not go there," he ruefully told Olivia once the bad memory faded back into the past. "Not to that place."

Olivia's brow was furrowed by her ignorance. "We _have_ to meet _somewhere_," she protested. "I don't want to go to her home. It must be neutral territory."

"Some other place, then, oui, but not that one."

"Why not?"

"Those people do not like me."

"I wasn't planning on inviting you anyway." When the pain of rejection softened his eyes, she quickly amended: "It wouldn't be smart, would it? To bring the object of irritation to a negotiation."

"Object of irritation?"

The phrase wounded him much deeper than the rejection.

"No, no, I only meant that your presence would fuel the fire of anger, wouldn't it?"

He considered that possibility and nodded reluctantly. "It likely would."

"Good! It's settled, then. I'll meet her alone at the cafe you so loathe."

"Are you certain it will be safe for you to go alone?"

"Of course. We'll just be two girls having a chat, won't we be?"

Although he acquiesced, the albino wasn't fully convinced. Choosing his battles, he held his tongue and excused himself. Nothing he said would have swayed Olivia from her summit; she was too headstrong. As much as he admired that trait in her, in situations such as these he also detested it. Argument would be folly at this point.

His only reprieve was to fall back on his best friend and so turned his path to the barn where the animal was housed. Catching his scent, the behemoth horse bobbed its head and huffed in welcome. The albino reached out a hand to stroke Goliath's thick neck, murmuring warm sentiments to the animal. Upon being touched, the horse pawed the floor of the stall, anxious to be freed. The albino understood this in the great horse's body language and opened the stall, cooing softly against the flicking, listening ears all the while.

Without bothering to first lead the animal out of the stall, he mounted Goliath bareback and, with a firm kick of his heels to the Clysdale's side, sent the equine forward. He guided the massive horse from the barn and along the familiar path that stretched beyond the vineyard to the fig tree, his place of shame.

At the moment, the tree was his destination for a different purpose. There was nothing sexual or deviant in his venture this time. He merely needed a place to think, secluded from the nonsense that prowled the vineyard like an unseen predator.

Sliding from Goliath's back and leaving the big horse to roam without restraint, the albino slouched down against the tree, ignoring the scrape of the rough bark that chafed the skin of his back. He had deeper concerns than a scratches across his flesh.

The thought of new scratches on his back brought a sour feeling to his stomach when he remembered the night he'd brought Lisette here beneath the fig tree. She'd left marks on his back then too. It had been a wonder how Olivia never noticed them. Luckily his sensitive flesh always needed to be covered so the only way his new lover would've been able to see the territorial markings of the old one was if she had been spying on him in the shower. Olivia was too decent a person to invade his privacy, he knew.

The fig tree alone had then held his dirty secrets, the way its ancestor had been used to hide Adam and Eve's wickedness from God. The albino had, he determined, many sins to atone for.

Le fantôme avec les yeux du diable. The ghost with the eyes of the devil. The barbed phrase that originated from his father. Its vestige would never leave him, even if his life had turned around to something stable with a woman who loved him. He would forever have the stigma of being the ghost with the eyes of the devil, forever live in that shadow. That was his original sin. His very existence was an offence to God and nature. At least according to his father it was.

His second sin was the brutal tactics employed that helped him survive on the streets. Necessary, but an evil necessity they had been. Olivia loved him, at least he liked to believe she did, and there was no doubt she had an unspoken understanding that the things he needed to do back then were unquestionably horrible. But how would she feel about him if she was aware of the gritty details? Would she still love him unconditionally in her Christian way? If she would, he didn't think she would love him in quite the same way ever again. Knowledge can tarnish a person's perspective, often beyond repair.

He sighed deeply, forsaking the tree in favour of lying flat on his back in the lush grass. Autumn was in the air but the grass was still soft and full beneath him. The cold feel of it was refreshing, even through his clothing.

Which led him to recall his third sin. Fornication. Right here underneath this very same tree, with the woman who was the sister of his enemy. That had been a sin Olivia had known of and forgiven. The albino was impressed at the generous forgiveness Olivia handed out. It went against the jealous nature men attributed to women. By all accounts she was an extraordinary woman. He'd done her a great injustice by taking Lisette as a lover.

The infidelity, and he believed it was nothing short of infidelity despite Olivia professing her love after the fact, reminded him of another similar indiscretion he'd stumbled upon when he was a child. Just seven years old, it happened a mere few weeks before his father killed his mother and was the likely catalyst for her death.

He and his mother were asleep in the bedroom, curled up into each other for warmth against the chill of the night. They were alone in the flat, at least they had been when they had gone to bed, and slept all the more soundly for it. At one point in the night he needed to go to the bathroom, waking up with the familiar nagging pain in his bladder.

Safe in his father's absence, he didn't think twice before unlatching the door and slipping out into the darkness. Four steps out into the hall, he abruptly halted, attentive to odd sounds coming from the sitting room. Animal sounds, like a man grunting. Only one man could be in his flat. Paralysed with fear, he held his breath, terrified that he would be seen; his ivory skin glowed in the dark and was exceedingly visible. He stood immobile for several seconds before the urgency of his bladder reminded him what he needed to do, whether he was seen or not.

He stepped forward, the calloused pads of his bare feet stealthy and sticky on the wooden floor, slowly untill he reached where the hallway opened up into the sitting room. His gasp went undetected and he stepped back out of the way. Yet doing so had been very needless because he had not been discovered. Slowly he peeked at what he did not want to see to make sure he was seeing correctly.

His father was on the sofa with a woman who was not his mother; after all, it could not be his mother since he left her asleep in the bedroom. They were both stark naked, the woman with one leg across the back of the sofa and the other draped down so that her foot was on the floor. His father was between her legs, moving in a rhythmic pattern that mesmerised him. He was too young to comprehend what he was witnessing but he knew that the woman didn't belong where he intrinsically knew his mother did.

Unable to look away, he gazed on, curiously. Was this act of pleasure or pain, his immaturity didn't afford him clarity on the subject but as his father grunted and growled above her, the woman added her own strange sounds that steered his young but keen mind to conclude this was some weird act of pleasure. Her face had been turned away from him so that all he could see was the top and the back of her head but in a fit of gratification, uttering phrases that were illogical to him, her body arched and twisted so that his view of her face was plain.

He'd _known_ that woman. She'd been a local prostitute he'd seen frequently on the docks where his father worked. Once she'd even made a snide sexual remark about him that he hadn't understood then. Mother would have certainly said something in his defence that day had she not been distracted by father so instead he hugged closer against her body and scowled at the woman because her laughter seemed to ridicule him for his difference when she was the one who deserved the contempt with her heavily made up face and malnourished body, her profession notwithstanding.

"Ce qui dans l'enfer est cette chose?" she'd remarked with repugnance after seeing him.

For all of his hatred aimed at his father, that night he hated that woman deeper still. He did not owe her anything so it was safe for him to direct his rage on her. Standing affixed into place, he fought the need to relieve himself because the last thing he wanted was to be seen by either of the carnal performers. Disgusted yet fascinated, he wanted badly to retreat to his mother's side where he knew the two sweating, grunting figures on the sofa could not reach him.

His father peered up and found him there. It happened so unexpectedly that he didn't have time to manoeuvre himself from those spying eyes so that he could not be seen. But perhaps at the moment the eyes his father had stared at him with were blind to what was physically before them; his attention went straight back to the whore beneath him with not a thought going to the child.

That made no matter to the little boy. Nor had it eased his terror. By the time he'd turned and bolted back into the safety of the bedroom, he'd left a puddle of piss on the floor in his wake.

The very next day the woman was gone but his father sent mother to the store for a bottle of milk then beat him into agreement to keep the incident to himself. The little boy was no match for the crazed man's violence and threats. Mother returned and shielded him, taking the rest of his beating without ever knowing what it was for.

Was he like his father and the prostitute in his affair with Lisette when his heart was with Olivia? The consideration broke his heart. He was _not_ his father's son; that much his father had proven to him time and time again. He wanted to be as different from his father in habitual aspects as he was in physical ones. Would Olivia label him a lecher? Such a thought rattled his conscious like only the one of his prominent physical abnormality ever had.

Opening his eyes, he verified with sight what he already knew with touch: the sun was beginning to set, the days now shorter, and the land was cooling beneath him as the temperature dropped around him. A coat of goose flesh fanned out over his body. It was time to go. Rising from the ground, he stretched, smiling with satisfaction at how it relaxed his tense muscles. It felt as if they had been thirsty and the stretch had quenched the craving with invigorating pulses of blood. He was anxious to return to Olivia and find a way to work out the blame he felt for his infidelity.

Already a few things were in his mind.

A/N: Happy Holidays to all my lovely readers! Wishing you all the very best in the upcoming new year!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

_Le fantôme avec les yeux du diable!_

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

His father's abusive invective screamed at him through the years from across the dreamscape. He was only six and cowering inside a strange barricaded room yet he could plainly see his father's enraged countenance with scarlet colouring and eyes bulging, distorting his face like a living cartoon. Even as an adult it was a terrifying sight to behold, enough to jar him from his sleep with a gasp and muffled cry.

His forehead was dotted with perspiration despite the warm temperature and the vernal breeze that drifted in from the open window. Wiping it away, he peered down at the small reposed form of Olivia beside him. Good. She was still asleep. His thoughts had already sown enough guilt in him for his association with her; after he returned home and sat down to a hot supper with her, further realisations had been made to him in meditative silence.

One such insight had been how his very presence here on her family vineyard, how whether Olivia wanted to admit it or not, her uncanny love for him was the source of her misery. The villagers who no doubt loved her before his arrival had started to sneer at her and shun her. She'd even noted quietly but with heavy disappointment that this season the vineyard had less orders from around the village than usual. He pretended to not hear, but kept reading the book in his hand, all the while his heart sank in despair at knowing another thing he had cost her. But he said nothing on the subject because he knew she wouldn't see it his way if he did speak out.

Another insight was that he was what turned her longest, dearest friend against her. He understood that their friendship ran deep, albeit her love for the quaint newcomer ran deeper. Nevertheless, the albino felt himself an interloper in their relationship, living on the outside edge of their history. By all rights, he was infringing on Laroux's territory. So how could he blame the other man for being so livid with hate?

But did he need to become so unstable around the one person who wanted so badly to give him the benefit of the doubt? Olivia swore that Laroux's jealousy had turned him into a man she did not know, that he had never been violent or destructive in the past. The only thing that could cause such a fierce turnaround was pure prejudice against his abnormality.

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

Nobody wanted him except Olivia and nobody wanted her to have him. By taking him into her home and bed without flinching at his spectral physique but instead admiring what others scorned, it was already clear to him that she was not like any other. Only his mother had ever been able to look beyond his appearance and her love for him had gotten her murdered. And now Olivia had been placed in the same sort of jeopardy by her love for him.

They'd had another glorious night of lovemaking, wary this time to make certain the windows were shut and the curtains drawn against the outside. Gentle and unhurried, they took turns exploring each other's likes and dislikes. Learning had always been terrible for the albino and this was a new experience for him. Olivia was no delicate flower but he knew he was so much stronger than she was and treated her as such. He simply needed to trust her good judgement, however strongly he disapproved.

He buried his nose into her hair, relishing in the scent he breathed in. Almost as if sensing him, her hand lightly brushed across the masculine planes of his chest and she nestled against him closer, deeper with a serene sigh of contentment. Never in his miserable life had he conceived the idea that things would turn out like this for him. What prospects of such happiness would befall an abused, impoverished freak from the streets of Marseille? He was most fortunate and reflected back on his wretched life to see what he had done to at last deserve this small but significant Elysium.

What was Eden without a devil? He'd long concluded that good could never exist without evil; they were too evenly matched for one to eliminate the other. For evil, he was a red herring representation with his father's words. _Le fantôme avec les yeux du diable. _Yet Olivia always referenced him as an angel, something pure and good in every aspect except in the history fate had handed him. Laroux was most certainly the devil, trying to snaffle away Eve while snacking on so many apples. The albino wished Laroux was looking in through the window tonight; he'd pitch one of those bloody apples upside his head. For once life was rewarding him, was being fair, and he had more to fight for than just survival.

A note by Olivia was written and left on the table in the kitchen the following morning, noticed by him straight away after he sat down. Olivia had risen from bed earlier than he had and was now busy cooking breakfast. When he asked her what the note was for, he didn't like her answer.

"For Lisette. Go on. Read it. Tell me your thoughts."

He skimmed the concise drafted note, the corners of his mouth pulling into a frown. There hadn't been much to it. Only a few lines requesting that the two women meet in the café in two days. That was all. But it made his heart sink with a dread that had shadowed him since her proposition had been aired to him.

_Lisette,_

_We have an issue of great import to discuss. Will you meet me at the café in town at eleven o' clock the day after tomorrow? I think you can agree that it's imperative for us to have this one-on-one conversation. Please respond via messenger to me directly at the vineyard._

_With sincerest gratitude,_

_Olivia_

He folded it in half, placed it back on the table and shrugged but nothing more.

She squirmed in anticipation but he remained quiet, dishing out a passive aggressive punishment.

"So?" He sat still, an enormous and beautifull ivory statue. She was tempted to smack her palm against his forehead.

"Olivia, I do not want you to go."

"I know you don't. But we've been through this. I _have_ to. It may be the only way to put an end to this nonsense."

"You might get hurt. Or, God forbid, worse. Then what will I do? How could I live without you after all that you have done for me?"

A tender but piteous frown down turned the corners of her mouth and she reached out to place her hand upon his bare chest, over his heart.

"Nothing will happen to me. I promise."

"Do not make promises you cannot keep."

Her mouth drew up into a smile more piteous than the frown, her hand staying where it was on his chest, feeling the metre of his heartbeat against her palm.

"I shouldn't fail the man who depends on me, then, should I?"

No more was said about the matter and the albino's appetite diminished with their conversation.

The die was cast with the dispatch of the letter. The atmosphere between them was strained during the rest of the day as he preoccupied his mind with thinking of various ways to stonewall Olivia's meeting with Lisette. In the end he realised that nothing would deter her from her mission. He hadn't felt so feeble since he was a child and it was a feeling he absolutely loathed.

Things grew thinner still when late evening arrived with an answering note delivered via courier. Lisette had accepted Olivia's proposal. But of course she had. He never imagined she wouldn't.

He was further agitated by her indifference toward the seriousness of the meeting. He wanted to discuss her intentions with her but decided to instead keep to himself out of fear that their words would escalate into a regretfull argument. Her mind was already made up and it was pointless to try to convince her otherwise. The only thing Olivia wanted to discuss with him was the hiring of a handfull of village men to assist in finishing the harvest. The albino was less inclined for that discussion as she was for the one about Lisette.

His insecurities preyed on him like a wild animal for fear of being around new people. They wouldn't know him. They would judge him. And, if they were village men, they would hate him vehemently without getting to know him. What if they convinced Olivia to turn against him? In his heart he knew that it would take more than vicious gossip for Olivia to turn against him but there was always that worry, always that possibility. That she had stood strong against the cruel persuasion of a lifelong friend was a testament about her character.

No, the small mindedness of new men would not influence her to turn against him, of this he was confident. She took him in, cared for him, and, dare he think that she loved him despite his differences. Love was a strange creature and he felt he needed to be content with having hers. He couldn't possibly ask for more. He wasn't sure if anyone could give him more or if anything more existed beyond her love.

The warmth of her compassion surrounded him later that night after the sky had grown dark and they retired into the sitting room to read. Simply sitting across from her in the chair he favoured while she stretched out on the sofa fashioned an unspoken bond that he imagined was a light which radiated across the room, throughout the house and over the vineyard with Olivia as the epicentre. He saw the light emanating from her, he swore it. It had been enough for him to cease reading and stare at her, all the love from his own heart pouring out of his gaze. It was then when he realized that he had seen that type of encompassing warm light before. It had surrounded the angel who paid him visit so often since his arrival on the vineyard.

What did it mean, this light? Was it a good sign, one from Olivia's God telling him that this was his rightfull place in the world? His wondrous stare must have touched her somehow because eventually she looked up at him from her book and gave him a radiant smile. One that sent heat through him from the inside out. Almost alien to him, he recognized it for what it was and believed her to be his elusive angel, the angel that had saved him. And perhaps the visiting angel had been some spiritual projection of Olivia herself.

Rising from his chair, he crossed the room in two long strides and laid back on the sofa, pulling her near. Propping herself up, they forgot their books as she leant in to kiss him. Soon the love he saw as a brilliant light became a beacon for affection and the albino and the angel drew down a private version of Heaven amidst their Eden, the cold silence that had dominated them previously now broken by soft sighs and loud moans.

They hadn't bothered to go upstairs to bed. Rather they slept in their natural glory on the sofa, a blanket pulled around their bodies to compliment their shared body heat. For him, it was simple bliss. So much so that he didn't want to move. Olivia was still asleep when the dawn touched them with first light. The moment was perfect, he thought as he watched her sleep. Any sound made or syllable uttered would certainly destroy that perfection. In effort to preserve the moment for as long as he was able, he thought more on the light and the angel.

He had never been a pious being. A life such as his allowed scarce time for him to be. More immediate needs than religious faith had arisen in his short life: food, shelter, safety all ranked higher than belief in a God who, if He was what Olivia claimed, would never put him or his mother in the roles they had played out. Yet in one way he believed in _something _and he supposed that something had always been a benevolent force that guided him to make the choices he'd made, choices which ultimately landed him on the vineyard. He may have regarded it as the simple force of fate; Olivia termed it as a guardian angel.

If Olivia emitted the same brilliant light and had taken him in under her protection, then Olivia was his guardian angel.

It made sense to him. She'd welcomed him while everyone else chased him away. She'd invited him in when he was in need. She'd given him a job, a home, dignity, love. And if that didn't signify guardian angel then he truly could not fathom the definition of what one was or believe in an omnipotent just God.

_Ghost! Abomination! Freak!_

That was what he was to the rest of the world. But not here on the vineyard. Not to Olivia. These thoughts warmed his heart even as the newborn sun warmed his skin. Smiling to himself, he squeezed her closer against him. But she still did not stir so deep was her sleep.

"Mon ange," he whispered before planting a light kiss upon her brow.

"Non," she returned with a whisper of her own. "_Mon_ ange." She nestled closer, pressing herself against him so that there would be no mistake in her meaning.

For a long while the lovers shared a comfortable silence, basking in sunshine and affection. No word regarding the letter or her intentions was said then or through the day.

There was a load of work waiting for them both and since they were shorthanded, both worked harder than they ever had that season. It was an excuse to ignore the problematic meeting with the enemy; Olivia left him in the vineyard to pick the fruit while she worked inside at the compressor to press the wine from what was already available.

By the time their work was finished well into the late evening hours, their mutual exhaustion had temporised the space between them for they were far too tired to speak much let alone argue about what was to take place on the morrow. They ate a light repast with only the sound of their forks and knives scuffing and clattering against their plates. They hadn't even gone into the lounge to read or talk or cuddle. They only went straight to bed where they fell into the deadened sleep of the fatigued.

When he woke the next morning, he was alone in bed. No aroma of delicious food wafted into the room from downstairs, neither in its cooking nor in its lingering from having been cooked. The prospect of not having breakfast provoked his hunger and he sat up in bed, noting that he had slept in his clothes. That solved one problem, he thought as he swung his legs over to the floor and sat for a moment to gain his bearings.

Olivia's side of the bed was cold, indicating that she had been gone for a good period of time. He swore before standing and going into the bathroom to brush his teeth and cleanse the bad taste from his mouth. Without showering or dressing in a fresh set of clothes, he left the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Empty. Save for on the table sat a plate heavy with fruit, a mug and the coffee pot. Next to it all was a note in Olivia's distinctive script explaining that she was already out in the vineyard picking grapes in effort to make up time that would be lost later. Because he was hungry, he made no argument or motion to find her but instead sat down to eat.

The light meal was finished in no time at all and it was only then with his hunger sated and Olivia's whereabouts known did he realise how badly he smelt. Of course. He and Olivia had spent the entire day in the sweltering heat and were too tired to do anything but eat and sleep last night. No doubt Olivia had showered when she awakened so for her sake and her sake only did he climb the stairs, choose new clothes and shower as well.

Finished and feeling shiny and new, he strolled down to the vineyard to ruin what he had just accomplished. He worked all morning, relishing the early daytime, judging it the best part of the day because the Helios had yet to set forth his debilitating heat and deadly rays.

Before he knew it, Olivia had located him and told him she needed to leave for her meeting with Lisette.

"And there is nothing I can say, nothing I can do to dissuade you?" he inquired because he had to try once more.

With a light, flippant smile, she shook her head. "Sorry, mon ange. I need to do this alone." Her voice was as soft as a flower petal and she reached a hand up to caress his face. "Your presence will only stir up trouble with those stuffy villagers. You know they're jealous of you."

"Jealous? Of me? I think you are misinformed, Olivia."

"People hate what they don't understand. Usually out of jealousy. They covet your statuesque beauty. You're a living, breathing work of art. They don't understand it. But they want to possess the beauty that comes so natural to you."

He grew uneasy by her compliments.

"Non, amour," he disagreed quietly. "It is nice to think they hold me in such esteem but I know for a fact that they do not."

"Anyhow, it's their loss for not thinking you deserve to be behind a velvet rope in a famous museum. I have my own private viewings, that's all. But I need to get on my way. Don't want to be late. Lisette would probably see I'm not there and leave. Then everything would've been pointless."

"It is a pointless endeavour nonetheless, Olivia."

Again she smiled.

"While I'm in town, I'll post our offer for work, ask around and see if anyone would be interested. We need to finish this harvest as quickly as possible before the fruit rots. We're already so far behind some of it will be going bad in a couple more days. The more we hire, the faster it can get done. Then it'll be just you and I for a long winter's rest."

His turn to smile came.

"I would like that very much," he murmured.

"I know you will. We both will. It'll be well deserved. But first we need to get through harvest."

With that insistence, she leant upon the tips of her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. His brawny arm encircled her, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. She moaned into him with gratification then forced herself away.

"Stop stalling me, mon ange," she delicately scolded. "I'll be back in about two hours. But if I'm not back in exactly that time, please do not do anything rash such as rummage through the village in a mad hunt for me."

"How will I know if you are in need of my help?"

He had her with that one.

"Well…Don't come looking for me untill sundown. If I'm not back by then, something went wrong."

"I st-"

"Shh!" She pecked his lips again. "I need to go. We'll talk later."

He couldn't stop her. Nothing would deter her; he had to let her go. Her feminine sway drew his attention from work untill she rounded the corner and she vanished somewhere beyond the trellises and vines.

A boundless, profound silence filled the vineyard in her wake. It had been as if nature and all the world around him had simply turned off. He was the only sentient thing in Eden; he never felt more alone. As this great solitude fell upon him like a smothering blanket, he remembered Goliath, placed the basket of grapes on the ground and went in the direction of the barn, desperate for another living thing that didn't have roots digging into the soil.

Goliath whickered softly and pawed the floor of his stall in anticipation once he caught the albino's familiar scent. He returned the animal's greeting with calming words and long strokes over its silky neck. When he entered the stall, the horse affectionately nudged him with his muzzle and shoved him against the wall, making him laugh.

"You do not know your own strength, do you, boy? Just like me. It is no wonder that we are great friends."

He took the pail hanging on a hook in the stall and first baled some oats into the feeding trough then went outside to fill the bucket with water from the hose along the side of the barn for the horse. While Goliath heartily ate, the albino brushed the Clysdale down. He chuckled to himself when the massive horse's powerfull muscles quivered then relaxed beneath the strokes and the equine leant against the massaging bristles.

When the grooming session concluded, he slipped the halter over the horse's muzzle and led him out of the barn. Their walk through the vineyard was unhurried and quiet. In the company of the horse, nature came to life again: the birds sang, the insects chirruped and buzzed, the leaves rustled in the breeze. He filled his chest up to capacity with the good clean air then released it slowly as if it were smoke from a rich and expensive cigar. Only this was better, healthier, and there was nothing to compare. Nothing except the alluring fragrance of Olivia's skin.

Olivia. He speculated what may be occurring at her infamous conference while he walked. Anything could be happening and he was stranded here by his word to her that here he would stay. Nothing he did or thought of ebbed his worry in the least and the passage of time sickened him.

By some homing instinct, he'd led Goliath to the fig tree. Upon realising where his trek had taken him he was both irritated and dismayed. Here was the site of his sin, here was the place where misery lay. He recalled vividly the encounter he willingly created with Lisette here when the days of their liaisons were still new and thrilling.

The memory's stain bit harder when he remembered in those first few days with Lisette how out of dissatisfaction for the nightmarish life he'd led he had been determined to violate Olivia's religion in any way he could. The best way, it went without saying, was through sex. Pagans used sex as a means to reach out to their gods and Christians demonised sex to frighten the pagans from their faith. Suddenly he wanted revenge against Olivia's God on behalf of those pagans treated with such injustice. Once during one of his trysts with Lisette he had tied her wrists to the bedposts with silk scarves and rosaries as an act of rebellion and defilement, challenging this God of Olivia's to strike a blow against him. Now he lamented that sacrilege as much as he regretted Lisette altogether.

He sighed and patted Goliath on the neck. There was nothing he could do about it now but make amends. And that was when he saw a light from out the corner of his eye. It was too bright and pure to be the sun. A blinding white light that hurt his eyes even before he tried to peer directly upon it.

A soft whisper called his name but it wasn't the name that Olivia had affixed to him. It was the name his mother had given him, long forgotten but remembered the instant he heard it uttered. Strange that it would come back to him in that manner after it not falling on his ears for the majority of his life. Intrigued, he forced his eyes open to look directly at the light, only to find that the brightness had been subdued and its strength tolerable. Surrounded by the softer light was only what he could identify as an angel: otherworldly, beautiful and androgynous. Though it was cloaked in white garments, the expected wings were absent but he was startled to see that it had fiery red eyes. Just like he did. Finding those fierce eyes laid so intently upon him caused him to stumble backward and nearly fall untill he managed to regain his bearings.

_Fear me not, dear one!_ the angel requested in its breathless voice. _I will never harm you. I could never harm you._

Barely able to find his own voice, the albino returned: "What do you want from me?"

_I'm meant to guide you through your life's journey._

"Guide me? Like an angel?"

_A guardian angel._

The albino humphed his discontent then snarled, "Then where have you been when I needed you most?"

_Right here. With you. Where I have always been._

He scoffed at the creature. "You have never been with me."

_Haven't I? Or have you just never noticed? Who do you think directed your path as you ran from your home the night you killed your father? How do you think you survived on the streets, isolated by your difference? Who gave you the extra strength you needed to defend yourself when you were in danger? Who sat by your side and whispered the words in your ear when you taught yourself to read?_

"I survived on my own."

_You are a proud creature. As proud as you are beautifull. I love mankind. I'm enthralled by your ability to remain innocent despite the corruptions and wickedness that can surround you. You've been through much and still have much more to endure. Yet a certain part of you remains unscathed by trial._

"I must be asleep and unaware of it."

_You aren't asleep. As a matter of fact, you're only now beginning to awaken. You were raised by a mother who believed in God, who prayed with you for a better life away from the poverty and abuse you were both drowning in. What little faith she instilled in you died with your father. You grew cold in your terror, conceited in your actions to destroy your father and bring justice to your mother. That fear and arrogance never allowed you to feel my presence, or that of God. It was an impenetrable shield that only the basest of hints could leak through. It was not by chance that you chose this vineyard to rest your head in that night._

"You take credit for bringing me to Olivia?'

_I am the one who delivered you to Olivia. You needed to see that there is good in the world. You needed her to show you God's face again so that you could be welcomed back into His arms._

"I have never mattered in anything. What does it matter that I believe in God?"

_You mattered to your mother. You matter to Olivia. And, most importantly, you matter to God. You matter a great deal in something much larger than yourself. You have a much higher purpose_

"Impossible. I am nothing and no one. Le fantôme avec les yeux du diable. That is all I am, even when I meant something more to anyone else."

_You are wrong. So very wrong, child of God. Every living creature serves a purpose. Man, especially. But man has free will and is in constant jeopardy of straying. You must take care to not stray from the path He has set before you. It's so easy to fall from grace and you are more important than you know._

The obstinate albino shook his head in disbelief.

"This cannot be true. You are mistaken."

_The Lord makes no mistakes._

"I do not understand what possible difference I can make in this world. All I want is to stay here, to live and work in this vineyard with Olivia. Your God owes me that much."

_But it is _you_ who owes _God_._

"I owe nothing to no one. No one save for Olivia."

_You owe it to God that you were delivered here into Olivia's loving arms. Her purpose is to deliver you back into His._

"And then _my_ purpose?"

_Do not stray from your course. You will know in time._

Confused, the albino neither had time to ask for clarification or to perpend what the angel was relaying to him. The moment his mouth opened, there was a snap of foliage under foot behind him. The creature vanished as if it had only been a figment of his imagination after all. He whirled to meet the reason for its hasty retreat and came face to face with Satan himself: Etienne Laroux.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Raising a glistening red apple up to eye level, the Devil smirked and impassionedly recited:

"_'In the day we eat  
Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die.  
How dies the serpent? he hath eaten and lives,  
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns,  
Irrational till then. For us alone  
Was death invented? or to us denied  
This intellectual food, for beasts reserv'd?  
For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first  
Hath tasted, envies not, but brings with joy  
The good befallen him, author unsuspect,  
Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile.  
What fear I then, rather what know to fear  
Under this ignorance of good and evil,  
Of God or death, of law or penalty?  
Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine.  
Fair ti the eye, inviting to the taste,  
Of virtue to make wise: what hinders then  
To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?'"_

Then peering over the fruit at the albino, credited: "John Milton, _Paradise Lost_. My favourite poem."

With a decided motive, he tossed the apple at the albino who caught it in one hand like an American baseball star, narrowly preventing it from striking his head.

"The Devil would enjoy his own story," the albino retorted. "Told with sympathy for his treachery."

Laroux's icy smile went straight through the albino who did his best to fake the unease the other man generated in him. He trembled with rage and the desire to tear the intruder apart but out of necessity stayed his hand.

"I hear Olivia is meeting with Lisette as we speak." Mention of his former lover made the albino stiffen and Laroux noted it with a mocking sneer. "What's the matter? Don't you like my sister any more?"

"I have no quarrel with your sister."

"You used her when the one you wanted didn't want you then threw her away when you were wanted by your beloved."

"Lisette wanted to be used. She did not love me any more than I loved her."

"_No_ woman ever wants to be used."

"But a brother will allow his sister to be used. A brother will insist his sister allow herself to be used, even against her will."

"The only one I allowed to be used, _fantôme_, was you. You fell into it so easily it was almost as if you wanted her to use you."

"You took advantage of my loneliness, my differences. You pretended to befriend me then toyed with my insecurities. You are a wicked man, Étienne Laroux."

"_I_ am wicked? How do you know Lisette wasn't in on the deception? You don't know her, certainly not as well as you think you do."

"No. But I know you very well. I know how well you manipulate and deceive. You master it with the ease of Satan. You have deceived Olivia for most of your lives. How else could you have remained friends for so very long?"

"Do you understand how hypnosis works? Did you know that a person cannot be hypnotised unless they want to be?"

"What does hypnosis have to do with this?"

"I find that people usually cannot be deceived unless they're willing to be. Unless they think deeper, and most often don't, they accept what they see right in front of them without question."

The albino glared at his enemy with undisguised antipathy.

"Only a wicked man can make such an observation."

"Come now! It shouldn't be a difficult concept for you to grasp! You've never struck me as an idiot. Strangely gullible, but not an idiot. Olivia has praised your intelligence. What about your personal experiences on the streets? They must have been horrific, made worse by your appearance. I didn't have to be there to know that you were ostracised, rejected by the other rejects. It must've been demoralising for you."

The albino was at a loss for words. He gripped the apple in his hand, feeling it separate into crushed pieces in his palm. Even still it was an odd security blanket, this symbol of evil and vice, and he could not let it fall to the ground.

"Tell me, I'm curious," Laroux taunted with a sneer. "What exactly _did_ they do to you out on the streets? Did you have to sell your body like a whore? Were you able to charge a high price with your being such a freakish oddity?"

"I never sold my body," the albino countered, his voice a low growl of warning, a warning that went unheeded but provoked thoroughly.

"I'll bet some wealthy man drove up to you in his luxury auto and used you in the back seat while parked in a filthy alley."

"Watch yourself."

"Or what? What will you do to me, _fantôme_? Kill me? Bury me out here, thinking nobody will ever know? _Olivia_ will know if something happens to me…if _you_ do something to me. Neither will Lisette keep quiet about my disappearance so others in the village will know. You'd have to kill her too. Would you be willing to do that or be capable of it? Murder the innocent lamb?"

"I bear no ill will toward Lisette. She has only been a pawn in your treachery. I pity her. It is no fault of hers that she was unlucky enough to be your sister."

Laroux cocked his brow in wonder. "You hold women in high esteem, don't you? You fancy yourself to be a white knight, no pun intended."

"Women are the weaker sex. They cannot do anything to cause me harm the way a man can."

"Oh, that isn't true! Women have their own strength. They can cut a man much deeper than another man can. A woman can cut a man down to the quick of his soul. If you weren't naive, you'd know that."

"My mother loved me. She gave her life to protect me from my father."

The albino couldn't understand why he was still dignifying this monster with conversation. If he was smart, he would've taken Goliath's halter and walked back down to the house, leaving Laroux looking like a fool as he stood alone beneath the fig tree. Yet the albino didn't move a muscle.

"Ah, yes! Olivia _did_ let slip that bit of information to me. You murdered your father after he killed your mother."

The albino's body stiffened. Why would Olivia divulge that private information to anyone, let alone to the likes of Étienne Laroux? He had trusted her!

Laroux was quick to pick up on his reaction.

"See? I'm right, aren't I? A woman's cut is deeper."

"Olivia trusted you or she never would have told you. You came to her as a false friend."

"I was _never_ a false friend to Olivia. Never. Like Lucifer in _Paradise Lost_, my only sin was in doing what came natural to me."

"Deceit comes natural to you."

"Eliminating my competition comes natural to me. As it should for all creatures. It has been the rule of survival since the dawn of life. For a reason unknown to me, our sweet Eve has fallen in love with you. In hindsight, I shouldn't be too surprised. She's always had a soft spot for unwanted things."

"_You_ are unwelcome here. Olivia herself has told you so. You are a trespasser and I am losing my patience with you. Leave now while you are still able to walk out."

But Laroux took the threat lightly and with a flippant grin. Instead of listening, he leant against the tree and stared at the albino.

"Don't you think Lisette agreed to meet with Olivia today as a distraction? To lure Olivia off the property so I can come to confront you?"

"Lisette is not like you. She would do no such thing."

"She wouldn't? She agreed to be my wedge between you and Olivia, a plan that worked for a while."

"You are a venomous snake."

Laroux clicked his tongue in the manner of a parent scolding a child.

"Come now. No sour grapes. I'm in love with Olivia. You can't have an argument against love."

"Only what you have is not love. You do not know what love is."

The loud peal of laughter that Laroux released tempted the albino to hurdle the remnants of the apple at his head.

"And so we circle back to the crux of the matter! Again I ask. How would _you_ know about love? What experience do you have to compare it with? You were rejected by everyone around you, put out on the streets like an useless dog! I'll bet you were an inexperienced virgin when Olivia took you to her bed. Did you even know where to put it?"

"First you call me a prostitute, now I was a virgin. You have proven my theory true. Liars can never keep their story straight."

"Oh, I'm sure you've _fucked_ plenty. But I wasn't referring to fucking. I was referring to love. You've never been in love. Having never been loved, how can you know? And how can you know how to make love to her even if you were? Are you even certain that you love Olivia?"

"With every thread of my existence."

"But _how_ do you know since you're inexperienced? You've never been touched by a woman's love. A mother's love, I will give you. But only a mother could love one such as you. You know nothing and you stand in judgement of me! You're a joke! Really, my friend, you are!"

"I am not your friend," the albino snarled.

"That's right. And I'm not yours. Never forget that."

Laroux turned his back, actually _turned his back_, on the albino and began to walk off in the direction from which he came. But with that dismissive gesture came one final jeer: "Once you're finally out of the way, _I'll_ be the one in Olivia's bed."

When someone backs an animal into a corner, the only place that animal has to go is forward, straight at its antagonist. Right now the albino felt like a tiger trapped in a pit, a bull backed against an arena wall and there was no way to escape except in the unavoidable charge forward. And that was precisely what he had done: bolted forward, tackling Laroux backwards to the ground. The swift violence combined with the crush of the albino's muscular bulk forced the air from Laroux's lungs in a very audible _humph! _but before the man could recover, the albino was assaulting him with a barrage of closed fisted blows to anywhere they would land.

The attack was brutal, without thought save for shutting Laroux up and of avenging the wrongs this man had done to him and to his Olivia. Blood from somewhere on Laroux's face ran between the albino's knuckles in rivulets to cascade down his forearm, poolling at his elbow. A river of blood. Still he did not stop the beating, despite thinking he heard the fuzzy echo of a familiar voice demanding then begging him to stop.


End file.
